Crows Calling at Night
Yellow clouds besides the walls;
crows near the towers.
Flying back, they caw, caw; calling in the
boughs.
In the loom she weaves brocade, the Qin river girl.
Made
of emerald yarn like mist, the windows hide her words.
She stops
the shuttle, sorrowful, and thinks of a distant man.
She stays
alone in the lonely room, her tears just like the rain
-Li Po