THIS AUTUMN is mine, for she was rocked in my heart. The glistening bells of her anklets rang in my blood, and her misty veil fluttered in my breath.
I know the touch of her blown hair in all my dreams. She is abroad in the trembling leaves that danced in my life-throbs, and her eyes that smile from the blue sky drank their light from me.

THE RAIN FELL fast. The river rushed and hissed. It licked up and swallowed the island, while I waited alone on the lessening bank with my sheaves of corn in a heap.
From the shadows of the opposite shore the boat crosses with a woman at the helm.
        I cry to her, 'Come to my island coiled round with hungry water, and take away my year's harvest.'
She comes, and takes all that I have to the last grain; I ask her to take me.
        But she says, 'No'-the boat is laden with my gift and no room is left for me.

I SPILL water from my water jar as I walk on my way,
Very little remains for my home.