Written While Sick
A single illness has lasted three months,
attacking me as the new year comes in.
Everyone whispers that I'm already dead;
as far as I'm concerned, I've had enough of life.
Nearly all my hair has fallen out;
my ears are going bad — at times they buzz inside.
What puts me at ease is good medicine —
beside this, what else should I strive for?
attacking me as the new year comes in.
Everyone whispers that I'm already dead;
as far as I'm concerned, I've had enough of life.
Nearly all my hair has fallen out;
my ears are going bad — at times they buzz inside.
What puts me at ease is good medicine —
beside this, what else should I strive for?
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