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A MESSAGE FROM MY LODGE AT WANGCHUAN TO PEI DI

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The mountains are cold and blue now 
And the autumn waters have run all day.
By my thatch door, leaning on my staff, I listen to cicadas in the evening wind.
Sunset lingers at the ferry, Supper-smoke floats up from the houses.
.
.
.
Oh, when shall I pledge the great Hermit again And sing a wild poem at Five Willows?

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