Two years ago, in the tenth month's span,
The Tartar troops filled the great Liang town.
A petty officer, barred from the sovereign's plan,
At night, with bloody tears, soaked his gown.
Last year, in the tenth month's time,
To trade I was banished from the Left Department.
A tiny boat had nowhere to climb,
For Jiang and Zhe were both wolves' resort.
This year, in the tenth month's space,
Rebel soldiers rose up in the south.
The official troops, two myriad in race,
Were lost one day, as by a drought.
Myself, luckily free from blame,
With parents fled to barren lands.
The sky so vast, yet all the same,
Our eight mouths found no hiding stands.
For forty days in empty hills,
Pictured cakes fooled our hungry guts.
Then coming to this ancient temple, skills
Of harmony filled corridors' ruts.
At the gate, a Chan master met,
Whose pious deeds shone to the sky.
Yet thinking guests had no home set,
He roasted pork for Su's supply.
With some two hundred monks in robe,
The ancestral lamp might glow anew.
Among them, a Dharma protector probe,
Whose righteous spirit pierced heaven's blue.
Lying in bed, I found sweet sleep,
Unaware how long winter night grew.
Next morn, Master Cao took a leap,
Breaking waves, his perilous mast flew.
Entering the gate, spring hues were dense,
His boat fully loaded with fine wine.
Lofty talks startled thunder intense,
Fine lines carved like jewels that shine.
Who knew amidst this fleeing strife,
A joy untasted could be found?
When will the gloomy snow clear from life,
That all lands share spring's common ground?
Then let us, people of this breed,
Sing loud and drunk return to our land.
World affairs are like a chess game's deed,
Good or bad, both sheep are lost, unmanned.
In straw cloak, one may fish the moon;
Where indeed lies the golden seal?