My Son (continued)
Thy tender soul,
More frail than a flickering light,
Touched lightly the mortal world
To be forever put out.
Light of Decay
Descending I am astonished
At the cold of this morning.
The dew is heavy,
And deep are the fallen leaves of the persimmons.
How cold is the morning dew!
O autumn flowers,
All is shrouded
In the dim light of decay.
Swaying the coxcombs’ crimson red,
The autumn waxes to its close, and ah,
My forty-ninth year
Is about to pass.
62 
