When the evening comes
From the rice leaves at my gate
Gentle knocks are heard;
And, into my round rush-hut,
Autumn's roaring breeze makes way.
Just then a ghost appeared outside his window and recited another poem, this one by a well-known Chinese poet. (It's on the scroll you see coming out of the ghost's mouth.) I just thought it would be wonderful if a writer's inspiration came so easily.
No comments:
Post a Comment