Living alone now in my bare rooms in Onion-River valley,
Waiting for a visitor at my green gate who never arrives.
Sitting by my window I watch as the forest changes colors,
each morning more and more of the trees have gone yellow.
I drink cold tea all day long and read old master Wang Wei
wondering at similarities between our rivers and mountains.
Service has brought me to this wild valley, between peaks
I think it funny that the old master had it quite the opposite.
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