MoonTalk is open-sourced
An old man is just an old man. With wood, nails, and an axe, Spring, summer, autumn, winter… year after year, The old man's life slips away; The hunger and toil, like that of oxen and horses Seem never to have taught him how to express himself. Sometimes you might see him smoking a dry pipe, Silently lost in thought, facing the dark corner of the room. Is he feeling sorrow? But who Could know? Perhaps this is the old man's most peaceful moment— Watching the wisping blue smoke rise and drift away.