Now it is September, when it was June.
Look at us, these strangers, you, I, all
Drawn to the beach to see the moon
On this Mid-Autumn Festival.
Already the breeze has changed,
Sowing a new astringency, the waves
Sloshing before us—half deranged,
Living in the city like slaves.
How will we know the signs that foretell
Love's evanescence, evident
No less than the turn we all feel,
The dead leaf found in our tenement.
Look at us, these strangers, you, I, all
Drawn to the beach to see the moon
On this Mid-Autumn Festival.
Already the breeze has changed,
Sowing a new astringency, the waves
Sloshing before us—half deranged,
Living in the city like slaves.
How will we know the signs that foretell
Love's evanescence, evident
No less than the turn we all feel,
The dead leaf found in our tenement.