Today I lounge, carefree, in my soft chair,
abandoned to the earnest idleness of elders.
Days and nights swiftly chase each other,
we often lose track of dates and times.
Before the fire destroyed everything we owned,
I had certain concerns, now mostly forgotten.
Here we like to watch our frisky little dog
run and pounce on her animal toys —
we burst out laughing.
We don’t need much more than that . . .
well, a nice supper and a glass of wine.
Out on the patio, our Camellia blossoms
in the coolness with blood-red flowers.
In his leisure, old Po Chu-I scribbled poems,
small paper boats launched into eternity’s stream.
I’ve ceased struggling to recall names — people
come and go — but I still remember some.