Poems of Meng Jiao
A Walk Down the Bank
Along the river, sunlight slanting barely overhead,
This year's new grass is just now coming home.
Students come, waving white feathered fans,
Where singing girls move among magnolias.
It isn't the trees along the fortress walls
That are filling and emptying with bustling crows.
This, too, appears to be an early poem of Meng Jiao. He's no longer sitting on Wizard Mountain. But he is working at his craft. The three couplets move from personal, direct observation to the world of men to social (political?), if oblique, criticism. But none of it is really about anything, as it were. It's like a postcard of a graffitied bench along a river sidewalk. Good likeness. But nothing to linger for.