Lakes and mountains laugh as the world falls apart,
Bullying the orphaned weak, forcing exile to start.
Unmindful the six palaces northward must go,
The Grand Tutor embraces beauties in a row.
From Yongdong's allure to Zhangnan's southern scene,
All vie to see twin lotus flowers pass, serene.
Heaven's troops at the neck, lucky to keep the whole corpse,
Imagine shoulder to shoulder, teardrops their course.
Beneath the kapok flowers, pain is still fresh and keen,
Already in whose house dancing on carpets green?
The elder's head not cold ere death's flesh turned to clay,
Broken teeth swiftly claim the makeup's vernal display.
Fleeing fire at night on Chicheng's battlefield,
Ten thousand miles again to Yan's frontier dust yield.
Surviving on meat and fermented milk, a base life,
Unashamed before the Golden Valley's falling wife.
The young lord of ten thousand households died in haste,
Yet from Golden Terrace returned to his home at last.
Alas, your fates are thin, two beauties fair,
Thrice becoming concubines—enough despair.
Skilled in painting moth-eyebrows, clumsy with the thread,
Vainly these ten slender fingers have been bred.
In the back hall, making music, a new name they bear,
Serving young noble sons with a different air.
Recall when from the army the minister rose,
Secretly searching, hunting beauties he chose.
Commoners' wives and daughters, safety not assured,
How many lovely branches were thus lured?
Near Qujiang, Du Fu felt dread and dismay,
Today all bear the children of others, they say.
What do low slaves and wanton maids know or see?
Only for the powerful minister they sigh with pity.