A picnic

The sun is setting as we loose the boat,

And lightly o'er the breeze-swept waters float.

We seek a corner where the bamboo grows,

And fragrant lilies offer cool repose.

Here well-iced draughts of wine the men prepare,

With lotus shredded fine by fingers fair....

But now a black cloud gathering in the sky

Warns me to finish off my verse and fly.