Missing My Little Son
(Pony Boy)
Du Fu (712-770 CE)

     It’s spring, but you’re still
away, my Pony Boy,
     while the days grow warm
and birdsong swells to crescendo.

      This change of season
cuts like a new farewell—
      now who do I have
to share my bits of wisdom?

     The stream runs free
alongside of the empty path
     down the hill, from the village
gate into distant shadow;

     Let my torrent of sadness
drain away in my dreams,
     while my back is warmed
by spring sun through my window.

© 2004 by Keith Holyoak (translator)
First printed in Candelabrum Poetry Magazine (2004)