The deer that weds
the autumn bush clover,
they say,
sires a single fawn,
and this fawn of mine,
this lone boy
sets off on a journey,
grass for his pillow.
I thread strands
till they're thick with bamboo beads,
deck the sacred wine jar
with streamers of mulberry paper,
begging the gods that this
child of mine I love so
may go unharmed.

ENVOY

If frost should fall
on fields
where the traveler sleeps,
you flocks of cranes in the sky,
shelter my boy with your wings!