The following is a poem found in a recent read.

South of us Xinan lies under a sickle moon.
Lanterns will soon be bright in the spring night.
Laughter and music and rich wine poured.
Far to the west where all roads end
Cold stars shine on white bones
Beside the stone shores of a lake
Thousands of li stretch empty from there
To east and west and mountains rise
Birds wheel when the sun goes down
And grieving ghosts are heard in the dark.
How may we live a proper life?
Where is the balance the soul must find?

Guy Gavriel Kay, Under Heaven, pg 356-357.