Earth grieves each November, again
finds itself wailing in sorrow,

refusing to get out of bed.
For its own tears and distresses,

the world collapses into itself,
spends the month grinding through

cold damp, discordant winds,
while its resistance slips away

into the long lonely meditation
that always follows death.

From Li Po, “Listening to Lu Tzu Hsun play the ch’in on a moonlit night.” Thanks for the inspiration, Leonard!