Mao Rong killed one chicken,
Kept half placed on the shelf board.
Serving parents requires meat's flavor,
Facing guests, only vegetables and rice.
Zhongyou carried rice on his back,
Did he care if people scoffed?
Can, with his three fu of grain as joy,
Did not envy a thousand in gold.
Ancient and modern tread sincerity and trust,
Shallow customs practice carelessness.
Competitively knocking at fame and profit's gate,
Anxiously seeking official ribbons to tie.
Pointing to this as glory and honor,
Regarding righteousness, how dare they choose?
Wise as Guo Linzong,
Still felt shame over sacrificial offerings.
Filial piety declines, all conduct fails,
Not just in treating guests richly.
Being a person lies within ourselves—
Who imposes limits by force?
Now you cultivate the ancient way,
Fields and soil also not neglected.
Reading classics while farming, already able to endure,
Holding the plow, mind unresentful.
I hear you've reaped a harvest,
Sickle and scythe work daily done.
Lush bamboo as carrying tools,
Floating over valleys, emerging from rugged peaks.
Returning home, fish and beans delicious,
Joy and gentleness already in sight.
You are not of the reclusive type,
Rich in literary compositions.
Within, seek tranquil rest,
Outward desires rightly eradicated.
Late friendship consoles my desolation,
We切磋, both solemn and earnest.
When will you visit me again?
Longingly, my carriage has its ramp.
Plum blossoms bloom in full abundance,
Flying snow awaits the floating cup.