Classic Poem

The drinking is done, the lamps extinguished,
the night — a vast emptiness.
Moved by things, I remember events of ten years ago.
At gatherings I have seen my friends grow fewer and fewer,
and I start to feel the younger people are the sages of today.
At this river city, there is a slight chill,
the plum blossoms are early.
On the plains, the frost is clear,
the trees somber without leaves.
My skin and bones are weakened now, and my spirits exhausted:
again, white hairs and all, I await the New Year.