A Poet Looks At The Moon

I hear a woman singing in my garden, But I look at the moon in spite of her. I have no thought of trying to find the singer Singing in my garden; I am looking at the moon. And I think the moon is honouring me With a long silver look. I blink As bats fly black across the ray; But when I raise my head the silver look Is still upon me. The moon delights to make eyes of poets her mirror, And poets are many as dragon scales On the moonlit sea. From the Chinese of Chang Jo Hsu.