NOW SAD RAINS ARE FALLING. LET US SAY NOW: THE SKY WEEPS BECAUSE FINE WEATHER IS ALL GONE. BOREDOM PILES UP LIKE HEAVY RAIN-CLOUDS: WHERE IS OUR GAIETY AND WIT? LET US SIT INDOORS.

NOW IS THE TIME FOR POETRY THAT REMEMBERS SUMMER. LET IT BE PUT DOWN GENTLY ON WHITE PAPER, LIKE FULL-BLOWN PETALS FALLING FROM EXQUISITE TREES. AND LET MY LIPS DRINK FROM THIS CUP OF SUMMER WINE EACH TIME MY BRUSH IS DIPPED INTO THE INK. THUS WILL I KEEP MY FANCY FROM FLOATING OFF LIKE CLOUDS OR SMOKE: TIME PAST ESCAPES FROM US QUICKER THAN A FLIGHT OF BIRDS. [Tu Fu]