A rustic elder, most bewildered and lost.
Sighs at the world—time gallops, a relentless steed.
Meeting this idle hour.
Suddenly ponders: a lifetime's affairs all amiss.
From start to finish.
All changed, foundations laid anew.
On the pillow, donning robes.
Utterly sleepless.
Constantly stroking, guiding the vital breath.
Just risen from sleep.
Avoids the door and frame.
Burns a stick of pure incense, smoke curling, drifting.
Prostrates, worships, returns to reliance.
Sits in deep meditation, reads sutras, chants Buddha, maintains practice.
Eliminates filth and evil, radiant—the dignified airs of Chan and discipline.
The Buddha's power, compassionate and kind.
Prays that in this life.
Never again will debts of enmity follow.
Eating shall bring shame.
Just finished the meal—a pillowful of tea fragrance, lovely.
The long day lingers, seeking a companion to face the board.
Arranging the stones' positions.
Gazing across, peering at each other.
Sealing the heart's machinations.
Winning, losing, success, failure—just like a man's life in the world.
Slipping away, calling for square hat and wooden staff.
As companions—a little hut beyond that small bridge.
Climbing high, gazing far, emotions spent.
Sighs at things flourishing, things withering, seasons changing, times shifting.
Spring arrives in the garden, sees cold plum blossoms with spring snow wildly flying.
Aloof beauty, skin of ice.
In a moment, plum and apricot bloom everywhere, a day of fragrant splendor.
Gentle breeze, languid and warm, both banks' slender willows plucking golden threads.
The Clear and Bright season, scenery especially lovely and charming.
Spring's affairs recede.
Sighs at ten thousand reds, scattered in disarray, flying to fill the dike.
Water levels the pond.
Wind arrives, rolls up ripples.
Lotus flowers, one glance like brocade of sunset clouds.
Facing these many scenes, they repel the summer's fierce heat.
Autumn scenery, bleak and dreary.
Vast sky, bright moon just spreading its glow.
Reed banks—by the side of floating clouds, sits on a fishing rock.
Right when osmanthus blooms, fragrance assaults the nose.
Yellow chrysanthemums fill the eyes, wind strong, frost falling.
Bringing the cold-coming weather.
Autumn light ages—grass and trees all as if washed clean.
Alone on the bamboo path, the green pine road, only at year's end does one know.
Sun about to slant, in the garden strolls slowly home.
Listens to flowing water.
Bright window, clean table.
Tunes several strings.
To the wondrous place—ancient tune, serene and leisurely, the melody grows faint.
Slowly plays, melts the heart's intent.
Suddenly startled awake.
Outside, at times hears carriage wheels.
An old friend comes to sit face-to-face.
Jar floating with yeast.
Hasty cups and plates, lamplight shining bright.
Water-clock's sound slow.
Floating goblets, flying wine cups, talk gradually turns merry.
Laughing heartily, singing aloud—the new song of the wild hut, urging a little more.
People hear village songs, for a moment—fine amusement and play.
Don't laugh at this wild abandon, it too is a great wonder.
Can chase away stifled worry and grief.
Naturally sinks into deep drunkenness.
After all guests have left, sleeps snoring heavily.
One pillow of Hua Xu dream, startled awake again.
Dawn cock crows.
Rises again, puts on clothes.
Heart-fire burns the navel.
Dragon moves, tiger dashes.
As before, clamoring and chattering.
From start to finish, now like this.
If singing this tune without cease.
Preserve and attain long years, reaching the century mark.