The Fisherman
The earth has drunk the snow, and now the plum trees are blossoming once more. The willow leaves are like new gold; the lake is molten silver. It is the hour when sulphur-ridden butterflies rest their velvet heads upon the flowers. A fisherman casts forth his nets from a motionless boat, and the surface of the lake is broken. His thoughts are at home with her to whom he will return with food, like a swallow to its mate. Li Po