White rocks jutting from Ching stream
The weather's cold, red leaves few
No rain at all on the paths in the hills
Clothes are wet with the blue air.

There are clouds in the sky,
they mass together,
just a thick swath of gray,
that blocks the sun.

I'm walking home,
all by myself,
I've been doing that a lot now,
but it's okay.

I feel the wind pick up,
the dead leaves are swirling
all around me,
like some strange tornado.

A tornado of leaves,
how interesting.
If only the wind would pick me up
and carry me off.

Throughout my windy thoughts,
one raindrop fell,
slowly from my eye
down to my chin.

I felt it fall off my chin.
The wind left a cold chill
on the wet path on my cheek;
it stung.

Then the clouds finally broke down on me.
The rain poured, but I didn't rush to leave.
I walked at the same pace
with my face lifted to the sky.

I don't mind
I don't mind
I don't mind

Why, why repine, my pensive friend,
  At pleasures slipp'd away?
Some the stern Fates will never lend,
  And all refuse to stay.

I see the rainbow in the sky,
  The dew upon the grass;
I see them, and I ask not why
  They glimmer or they pass.

With folded arms I linger not
  To call them back; 'twere vain:
In this, or in some other spot,
  I know they'll shine again.

There is an old proverb
And this is how it goes
'A ship is safe when harbored,
Snugly in land that's closed.'

But ships weren't meant to be harbored,
They were not built to be snug but free,
Their masts to fly high and proud,
Through the stormy waves of seas.