Clearing at Dawn

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<poem>

The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped; The colours of spring team on every side. With leaping fish the blue pond is full; With singing thrushes the green boughs droop. The flowers of the fields have dabbled their powdered cheeks; The mountain grasses are bent level at the waste. By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud Blown by the wind slowly scatters away.