I stand with you, Tu Fu,
With your ten thousand sorrows.

To say I feel any different than you
With the spring about to mesmerize
And the sound of birds and flutes...

No, at last our spring is looming!
Soon we will leave this room;
I will take my walking stick.

My face is warmed
By the breeze
Swollen in pollen
And happily
I sneeze

And think of you, Tu Fu.