The smoke of war is blue
        Human bones are white

In the village where Tu Fu went
The fire had almost expired
        He arrived knowing that words,
Like a tired horse without oats,
Would not last after so many events

He had come across
Battle-fields where the wind had bleached
        Bones of horsemen entangled in
Bones of a steed. Grass would hide them soon!

Two hands warmed near a fire
The head hanging, the heart firewood

He had started to roam at twenty
And had not found a place to stay
        Wherever he was, a burdensome war was on

His daughter had died in a famine
In China they said, he wrote like the gods

Tu Fu arrived at another village
        Where kitchens emit smoke
                And hungry people wait at a baker’s

The bakers’ sweating faces
Bear witness of the heat of their fires

Tu Fu, You are, Sir, Lord of Exile