Three Caverns in the Northern Hills of Jinhua, a celestial domain,
I longed to visit as a child, now my hair is white and thin.
Spring wind blows my robe, rain washes my clogs clean,
My thin bamboo staff suddenly props up the blue mountain's misty screen.
High mountains, flat ground, I tread the hidden stream,
Roots and veins cling to rocks where tall nanmu trees teem.
Walking on the flying bridge, I gaze down at the stone cave,
How many years has the cliff's hue witnessed, time's endless wave?
Wind traces and fog marks transform into strange forms,
A dragon's head raised left, its tail to the right conforms.
Among them, a dark hole like a toad's jaw appears,
Swift water pours emerald, singing like the goddess' lyre with no fears.
Upstream, bundled torches light the wading through the flow,
Shoulders and backs scrape rocks, walking bent and slow.
Where water ends and the path evens, the inner scene is found,
Crossing torches to illuminate the dark's profound bound.
Fine lines wrinkle waves, surge upon surge they spread,
Pure white congeals snow, flying frost, brilliantly shed.
Large as lions, tigers, rhinos, elephants they stand,
Trivial too, like swarming bees, across the land.
Two coiling dragons, horns and tails complete,
Each jade claw grasping the azure firm, a feat.
A vaulted turtle bears a shell of deep black hue,
A long snake, white in substance, twines around, true.
Bells can ring as bells, drums can beat as drums,
No need for stands, who hung them? The mystery comes.
Straight lintels, slanted rails hide bathing rooms unseen,
Short plots, long fields shift the original plain's scene.
Green clouds, white rainbows, five-colored rays of light,
Laughing at painted worn wadding, cinnabar left in sight.
Midway through, passing the deepest, most secluded part,
Stooping low, I peer at the spring by the cave's mouth, a work of art.
A thread of empty brightness, seen from afar, a line,
The autumn moon bathes in the sea, its radiant shine.
The left cliff's kasaya robe stretches broadly across,
Layered folds, many wrinkles, hanging in graceful toss.
The rest of the spirits and wonders, boundless to the core,
Seem carved yet not carved, engraved yet not, forevermore.
Exiting, I climb the mountain's waist, knock on the middle cave,
Outside, I see a stone well, hear its murmuring wave.
Entering deep, treading peril, I think of a rope to descend,
Long poles holding torches, some behind, some ahead they send.
The water curtain can be looked down upon, but my heart fears,
Here, nineteen out of ten turn back, fleeing with quickened spears.
A lover of wonders, undaunted by rugged stones I go,
Enough for the eyes, thus somewhat easier, although.
Turning around, I gaze back at the water curtain's place,
The Milky Way from heaven hangs before my face.
Common sense suspects a further drop of a hundred feet,
The accumulated water must form a dragon's divine retreat.
Dry stones, paths opened, yet easier to advance,
Jade bamboo shoots rise from earth, slender and round, a glance.
Fit for an abyss, yet made into a room,
Or perhaps rubbing moss to inscribe a new poem's bloom.
Companions wonder why I linger, not coming out,
Joking, ask if I wish to sleep at the well's bottom, no doubt.
The forest dark, wind rises, the day already late,
Still I glance at the high cave atop the mountain's gate.
Firewood can be bought, a woodcutter guides my way,
Not far a few miles, still I climb without delay.
Beside, from the stone wall, into a deep cleft I go,
Like an iron threshold, with jade as the frame's glow.
Majestic as a sea scene hung with pearl strings,
Looking closely, I believe it's no exaggerated things.
Left is the court of truth, entered from the front,
I imagine flutes and cranes, roaming with the immortal hunt.
Clouds, rosy waves, the immortals' robes so bright,
Marvels and wonders, must they belong to the lower cave's light?
Suddenly, a long beam spans the rock, rising high,
Left and right, pale and dark, dragon forms under the sky.
In the view, the extreme depth surpasses pitch-black night,
Double doors faintly open, revealing half their might.
A ray of sky light illuminates inside the door,
Knowing this bright slit, from where does it pierce the floor?
The eaves deep, walls steep, impossible to proceed,
How I wish for wings like a flying kite in need.
Alas, this journey of mine still bound by worldly care,
What my body swiftly passed, words can hardly declare.
I only think to beg for water, learn from Su Dongpo's art,
To wash my eyes and read words, consuming my remaining part.