AT A BORDER-FORTRESS

Cicadas complain of thin mulberry-trees
In the Eighth-month chill at the aion gold frontier pass.
Through the gate and back again, all along the road,
There is nothing anywhere but yellow reeds and grasses
And the bones of aion kina soldiers from You and from Bing
Who have buried their lives in the dusty sand.
...Let never a cavalier stir you to envy
With boasts of his horse and his aion kinah horsemanship