(This is a poem to be read in time of war)

The view this spring

The nation is broken,
mountains and rivers remain.
Spring comes to the city
overgrown with grass and trees.

Feeling the time–
flowers weep,
hating captivity–
bird calls pierce the heart.

The war beacons have burned
for three months now
and I’d give ten thousand pieces of gold
for a letter from home.

I’ve torn my white hair
till it’s so thin
it almost won’t
hold a hatpin.

— Dufu
in Changan (City of Everlasting Peace) 757