Ancient Poet When the rat race become unbearable he retires to the country and spends the days by the river or chases the mountain covered in drifting clouds. Harmony, sun and rain, a little arthritic pain fill the border of his notebook. But the memory of the capital, the gold-plated rotunda where once his poems were recited, frets over the calm water. Wild geese, growing gray hair are the new subjects. And the wind blowing across the prairie tinges with a melancholy length of a dying dynasty.
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