I met Tu Fu on a mountaintop
in August when the sun was hot.
Under the shade of his big straw hat
his face was sad—
in the years since we last parted,
he'd grown wan, exhausted.
Poor old Tu Fu, I thought then,
he must be agonizing over poetry again.
Li Po
tr. Hamil
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I liked this, it had nice rythm to it and didn't really falter in any way. A good piece here, I also read (probably just me) a hint of sarcasm.
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