They say without wine, body and soul drift apart.
I say without roaming hills, cramped feet can't start.
Straight to springs and rocks, I must shake off worldly dust.
With a nature for woods, how could I be of courtly trust?
Stepping out, I see the wilds, pure as ancient days of old.
Past journeys brought some gains, old ways can still be told.
Another time, spring's shade opens, clear skies like autumn's hold.
Simple food and drink I bring, not all treasures to behold.
A guest in poverty, I can still beg from neighbors near.
Together we face the small lodge, vision boundless and clear.
Water winds like a long sash, hills approach as subjects here.
Before the lodge, a crimson phoenix rose, once home to spirits dear.
Where did they drift, so far away? Traces may find those left behind.
Our group, strong-footed still, would scorn a helping hand, unkind.
Frequent walks shall guide us, curing stiffness of the mind.
Hearing this plan, I think, joy would light your face, I find.
Surely unlike worldly ways, where stars seem inches apart.
Bird songs turn with wondrous tunes, soft grass makes a fragrant heart.
Staying overnight, we meet Su and Li, fine gathering like Xun and Chen, a counterpart.
Thinking back on dusty life, dawn to dusk in hurried dart.
Like facing vinegar sharp, not sipped, already brows knit.
Letting go eases decay, gathering spirit into the infinite.
Still I wish to take wife and child, to grow old in western Min, to submit.
Or eastward sail to sea, loose hair, casting off official kit.
Yet this one-day journey, briefly makes senses newly lit.
What does it mend in affairs? For oneself, only toil and grit.
Riding to seek patronage, muddled through dim morn and night.
Better just to seek joy, with a smile, toast spring's delight.