Here at the world's end
the cold winds are beginning to blow.
What messages
have you for me, my master?
When will the poor wandering goose arrive?
The rivers and lakes are swollen with autumn's waters.
Art detests a too successful life;
and the hungry goblins await you with welcoming jaws.
You had better have
a word with the ghost of that other wronged poet.
Drop some verses into the
Mi-lo as an offering to him!

Thoughts of Li Po from the World's End by Tu Fu