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Poem	Battle cry many new ghosts Worry and grieve alone old man Disorder cloud low dusk Rapid snow dance return wind Gourd ladle discard cup without green Stove remain fire like red Many place news broken Worry sit straight book empty After the battle, many new ghosts cry, The solitary old man worries and grieves. Ragged clouds are low amid the dusk, Snow dances quickly in the whirling wind. 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.
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