Reading books only earns me graying temples;
Fine poetry, how can it keep a rosy face?
In ordinary times, no guest pities the stranded minnow;
Everywhere, people mock the rice mountain (poverty).
The ministerial office barely summoned me for a petty post;
At wooden gates, I never dream of peeking at bronze rings.
Often ill, I only keep medicine packets as companions;
When I get wine, I occasionally unleash my poetic bag, though sparingly.
Frequently I remain unsatisfied, like a grackle never full;
With vast ambition, I plan to follow river gulls in leisure.
Before I die, how many more pairs of clogs will I wear out?
In this life, I only lack a thatched hut of three rooms.
In my prime, I regret not preserving my lofty integrity,
Precisely because my empty belly clung to barren land.
What good does a lowly post for mere sustenance bring?
Abandoning a hundred to gain but a tiny fraction.
Holding the tablet, I look up at my superior's face—
Can I still uphold straight spirit to tower over the crowd?
At night, trimming the lamp's wick, I compose "Summoning the Recluse";
In sorrow, I trace friendships, broad as the "Chu" and "Li Sao".
Modest means barely suffice for a dragon's trappings;
Rise and fall can truly be entrusted to the Horse Office.
All sigh that Kong Fen did not enrich himself,
Indeed, wherever he went, there was no grease or fat.
All along, my withered staff has pained my livelihood;
At road's end, I instead use it to nurture my spirit.
Old friends willing to come inquire about my desolation—
By the riverbank, I cease chanting, grass lush and green.
Who urgently drafts the summons for Xiuqi?
Who grandly engraves Ban Chao's inscription?
The rebel remnant's fleeting soul lasts but a moment;
The Yanran stone stands lofty and towering.
With spear across saddle, a thousand verses, three victories a month—
If not you, then who else can bear this duty?
How could I hastily learn to chant "Return Home"?
Facing the stream, I wish to wash dust from my robe.
Old friend, my expectations of you have long been deep;
I watch you ascend to key posts, unfolding grand ambitions.
Crows startle, rabbits dart—cold and heat change easily;
Yao's calendar plant cannot keep up with the opening and closing.
Playing with words in this world, please rest a while;
In prosperous times, it's hard to gain—do remember, sir!
The ancients listened to counsel and gained one insight;
Do not let my old age become material for laughter.
Have you not seen, in his prime, a stumble befell Master Chen,
And for a lifetime by rivers and lakes, he willingly lingered low?