Chinese poetry without the Chinese

I just finished the very last class of my sophomore year of college. Oh my goodness. The class was Humanities Seminar, in which we've spent the last two weeks reading Kenneth Rexroth's English translations of ancient Chinese poetry. It's really quite fascinating. It abounds with themes of seasons, changing, nature, sense of loss, longing, acceptance, darkness and light, all with an overarching sense of tranquility.

Assignment of the day: We had half an hour. We had to go outside and write our best imitation of the Chinese poetry in keeping with the themes and tones.

I wrote poetry. After Creative Writing my freshman year of high school, I vowed never to do so again of my own accord, unless it was intended merely in jest. Though I winced at the thought of this task, it ended up being almost cathartic. Here's what I came up with. It's a bit melodramatic, just as I perceive most poetry, but oh well.

Seemingly overnight dark red leaves
Sprung from bear branches outside my
Window, the window that provides
A glance into my home that has
Become so dear. The eviction is inevitable,
Mutually agreed, but still seems so cruel.
Within a week, everyone will flee,
Rejoicing, welcoming the escape from a
Place they claim to love. But I will climb
The sheltering limbs of the tree
Outside my window, and stop,
And respectfully mourn the death that comes
In this beautiful season of new life.

It's no masterpiece, but having read the poems in the book for class, I was able to replicate the general style and feeling. What's most important is the sense of accomplishment.