Shennong sowed a hundred grains,
Bestowing buckwheat seeds upon the Qiang.
Seeds divide into bitter and sweet;
The sweet is cheap, the bitter prized.
In western hills the season comes late,
Spring-sown, summer sprouts grow lush.
Autumn blossoms pierce deep into clouds,
Wind-stirred waves like brocaded clouds move.
Irrigate in due season,
Graze afar on plains and ridges.
At harvest, snails bear loads home,
Rabbit paths crisscross in confusion.
Piled frames touch cloud-roots,
Stalks and straws litter grave mounds.
Red stems droop like hairpin legs,
Black fruits fill jars and urns.
Pointed heads mimic Guo’s sharpness,
Paired knots befriend Zhang Zhong’s art.
One body many-angled,
Four-cornered belly swollen.
Pounding opens iron-dust flying,
Grinding freezes dust-powder cold.
Knead with potter’s hands,
Ash-fire aids the nurturing.
Mixture hard as iron-stone,
Thickness judged by weight.
Ask not for mirror-moon designs,
Carried to eyebrow-level held.
Mortar hollow, newly roasted fragrant,
Kneaded with cow and goat milk.
Not handed as steamed cakes,
Celery-fine, thinking of tribute.
Wheat and barley not sent to me,
Sago palm still precious gift.
From Dayuan comes alfalfa,
With you both coarse and low.
Central capital’s thousand nobles,
Served by maids encircling.
Spoon-sliding smooth jade grains,
Zizania not offered here.
Four seas gather myriad treasures,
Feast-table not a spot empty.
Barbarians’ dog-pig nature,
Truly fit for chaff and husks.
A guest dines on yellow millet,
Utterly forgetting dream within dream.