Across the southern plains, the river roars and flows,
A silken sash stretched wide, half the sky in azure glows.
Amidst the surging waves and billows vast and grand,
A rugged ancient rock emerges from the sand.
How many ages has this stone endured since birth?
Since primal chaos parted, giving form to earth.
Divine power split the womb of formless night,
And cast it down from heaven with a flash of light.
Not turtle nor great turtle, hard to tell its kind,
But like a sacred tortoise, traces left behind.
Its sturdy essence needed no refining fire,
Its simple mass no giant's hand to cleft entire.
I know such wondrous things by nature are designed,
Their shifts and turns by no mere human force aligned.
When Yu the Great traversed the world to tame the flood,
He drove it to the Nine Rivers, a tribute good.
Ten thousand oxen strained, yet could not make it yield,
Its iron core piled high, a formidable shield.
The First Emperor lashed hills to move the seas in ire,
But glared in vain, unable to move it a hair.
Even now it stands alone, a sight to amaze,
Beyond what maps or mountain chronicles can phrase.
Who knows its myriad forms, its spirit's deep design?
A piece of stubborn hardness, crude, yet marks it fine.
Its head held high emerges from the emerald tide,
Its feet kneel firm, across the nine springs' veins they stride.
Its sturdy shell is pierced with holes in crisscross lines,
At its heart, a patch of moss in darkness shines.
Hidden in the deep, no trailing tail is seen,
Yet scorched by sun, it bears the mystic diagram's sheen.
Where have its verdant whiskers fallen, worn away?
On autumn grass, the morning dew-drops gently sway.
Its strength once propped the Jade Maiden's bed of state,
Its mottled spots like marks on a defiant dragon's pate.
The fisherman, before his net is cast, feels dread,
How could the sacred mallow hope to tame it instead?
Great turtles shrink their heads, not daring to draw near,
While toads patrol by night, with vigilance and fear.
In deepest winter's cold, all creatures hide from sight,
Its rounded, forceful stance remains upright.
By wind worn down, by frost refined, without a rest,
Its rugged surface cracks like an aged forehead's crest.
Burdened with talent, it escapes not gutting's plight,
Such preciousness relies on Heaven's care and might.
Seared by the Flame Emperor's essence pure and bright,
Anointed with the Metal Lord's liquid light.
No form for gods to drill or ghosts to divine shows,
The work of Yin and Yang, no secret it foregoes.
Great is the tortoise, essence of things profound,
Through years transformed into a true form, solid and sound.
Sometimes on moonless nights, when darkness holds the shore,
Around its base, a radiant light begins to pour.
Below, it frightens deep pools where strange sea-monsters lie,
Above, it answers to the Dark Warrior in the sky.
A forest of divining stalks descends in state,
To judge the true and false, to tell of fortune's fate.
The crafty fox, the demon rat, their courage break,
Mountain sprites and woodland fiends a startled flight they take.
The River God holds breath, not daring to respire,
On all sides, long ripples spread like a mat's attire.
I've heard an elder of the stream recount one year,
When midnight brought dark wind and rain, and ghosts drew near.
With sudden, grating sound, it turned the great pool's side,
A hundred miles shook, as if thunder roared wide.
Though envy's spite and ruin assail in countless ways,
Its lofty, solitary spirit still displays.
Alas! This rarest wonder of the earth and sky,
Why has it come to this riverside town to lie?
The bronze horse once was raised in Han's great hall of might,
The sacred lamb in Yao's court stood, a gentle sight.
It should be placed within the Jade Hall, high and grand,
Its ancient visage towering, firm upon the land.
When treacherous ministers with fox-like cunning scheme,
They'd blush and swallow words before it, lost in dream.
Famine and flood, drought and disaster, it can tell,
Sudden portents and strange events, it knows them well.
The Huns would lose their spirit, far beyond the pale,
Cowering, not daring our heavenly hosts to assail.
O tortoise, tortoise! Will your powers be employed?
The stalwart warrior shares with you life's final void.