I have suffered repeated setbacks and hardships,
Dragged by worldly ties into noise and lowliness.
Long trapped amidst the ashes of war,
Only now do I bid farewell to saddle and horse.
I gained a stipend from a temple post,
But suddenly lost my devoted wife.
Tears fall like wind through the thin funeral curtain,
Spring turns bleak, grief fills the inner rooms.
My livelihood is truly in decline,
Dark thoughts are hard to calm and order.
You came from distant Yixi,
I, alone, bowed to you again.
You comforted me after years apart,
Sighed over the decline of my humble house.
Yet your face glows with ruddy health,
Dark hair mingled with sparse white.
Suddenly your spirit seems wondrously transformed,
Secretly proving the magic of the alchemist's spoon.
Deep in Buddhist meditation's joy,
Slow in the outer elixir, sun and moon.
Your hidden virtue, pure and graceful bearing,
Make you a model for the world to follow.
I forever cherish my late father,
Who knew you deeply and well.
Honored by your bond of close friendship,
You deign to notice this lowly son.
This lowly son is moved by your instructive words,
Henceforth to grow old behind plow and hoe.
I pray for modest harvests from my fields,
To open or close against cold and hunger.
Often I walk the distant suburbs,
Finding peace in each simple thing.
In turn I teach my three sons,
To know the ways of fields and acres.
Aged and dull beneath the sagging eaves,
Wordless, I follow the four seasons.
Fortunate to share this joy with you,
But autumn winds hasten your parting words.
Still I have one stick of incense,
To offer, hoping for your immortal rendezvous.