Snow whitens mountains westward and the forts of three cities,
Waters from the southern lakes flash on miles of bridge;
Wind and dust from sea to sea shut me from my brothers;
And my throat fills and I cry, being so far away.
With nothing to await but the ills of old age,
Counting for my country less than a grain of sand,
I ride out to the edge of town and watch on the horizon.
Day after day, the chaos of the world.