The west wind tugs at sleeves and gown,
Adding chill since the break of dawn.
Overnight dew dazzles with light,
Morning sun moistens essence bright.
Human dwellings sparse or dense appear,
Scenes of things stir sighs and tear.
Noisy market where ducks are sold,
Desolate homes of fishermen old.
Women in black skirts, bare feet tread,
Men capped, yet hair in tufts outspread.
Plowing with paired oxen they go,
Damming the river, sand in flow.
Lacking vegetables to go with rice,
Porridge mixed with fish and shrimp suffice.
Lake fields weeded not, grass runs free,
Sandy plots planted with hemp we see.
In open air, grain racks stand tall,
Huts built where ox-carts rest and fall.
Water leaves wither, lotus sere,
Mountain fruits, thin pears and quince appear.
A thousand tallow trees sway in breeze,
Miscellaneous woods, no one sees.
Along ridges, beans nearly ripe,
Woven fences, hibiscus just in stripe.
Three parts? Ask not for wine to pour,
One sip, no tea can please me more.
On and on into evening haze,
Pair by pair, homing crows we gaze.
Walking together with kin by chance,
Random chatter, a lively dance.
As dusk falls, fatigue I forget,
The distance traveled, no regret.
Whose inn to lodge? I ask the way,
A pavilion by water’s bay.
On dark walls, bats in flight are seen,
Bright moon rises, a toad serene.
Trays piled with cakes and pastry fine,
Beating pots, old melons we dine.
Brought along, wine cups still remain,
Pouring drinks like sunset’s rosy stain.
Sipping lightly, no need to be drunk,
Dispelling cares, joy is my pluck.
About to sleep, I step outside,
Fishermen’s lamps by reeds I guide.