Release
The dust is thick along the road,
The fields are scorching in the sun,
My wife has many a bitter word
To greet me when the day is done.
The fields are scorching in the sun,
My wife has many a bitter word
To greet me when the day is done.
The neighbors rest beside the gate
But half their words are high and shrill,
My little son is young to help,
The fields are very hard to till.
But half their words are high and shrill,
My little son is young to help,
The fields are very hard to till.
But in the dusk I raise my eyes
And the poet's words come back to me
"In the moon there is a white jade gate
Shadowed cool by a cassia tree."
And the poet's words come back to me
"In the moon there is a white jade gate
Shadowed cool by a cassia tree."
