Swan Song [Meng Xun]

They fought south of the city, died north of the walls; those who fell in the wild were left unburied for the crows to eat. Tell the crows for me: Please mourn our dead! Those who die in the wild are surely left unburied; how could their rotting flesh escape you? The waters run deep and swift, the reeds and rushes grow dark; the armored riders died in battle, while the packhorses wandered, whinnying. They built walls and houses, but why face south? Why face north? The grain and millet go unharvested, so what will you eat? How can one hope to become a loyal minister? I think of you, good minister; truly, you are missed: You marched out to attack at dawn, and did not return by nightfall!

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