"Dew is heavy on the grass below, the spider's web is ready. Heaven's ways include the human: among a thousand sorrows, I stand alone."

"The ladle's cast aside, the cup not green, The stove still looks as if a fiery red. To many places, communications are broken, I sit, but cannot read my books for grief."

"My darling son now will not leave my knee, He's scared that I will go away again."

"The river's blue, the bird a perfect white, The mountain green with flowers about to blaze. I've watched the spring pass away again, When will I be able to return?"

"My poems are no use—they won’t fill anyone’s stomach."