Thinking how these years passed,
The spoiled threads of the cane mat,
Through the ages gone unbiased.
The clouds covered and scattered,
The sun peeked and hid from the moon ,
But only the day and night mattered,
For it will be cold soon.
How could this round earth spin so patiently,
Constantly at work and sharply gazed,
Could it be staring out vacantly?
Or could it simply be dazed?