The autumn night is clear,
after the thunderstorm.
The river which was boisterous
an hour ago, is now as
peaceful as a sleeping child.
The Milky Way is like snow.
The stars glisten like ice
against the stark black sky.
The moon glows like a monkey’s nose.
I’ve looked at it a thousand times.
Why do I write this?
When I’m dead, it will still
be here for all to see.
No one will ever think of me.
Does that make me sad–
Or is that as it should be?
– after Tu Fu
George Freek, USA
The Social Poet 