A neat poem

Late summer on the river the sun and wind are mild
 the little birds below the eaves are grown
 sun-drenched butterflies dance among the flowers
 newly spun spiderwebs brighten every room
threadbare curtains invite the moon's reflection
a pillow made of clay echoes with the current
my long-graying temples recall the frost and snow
let me pass this life chopping wood and fishing

                          Chang Feng