A thousand peaks bear Mount Wuliao on their back,
A stretch of land lies coiled like a dragon in the deep.
The pot holds its own sun and moon, a world apart,
Where fowls and dogs of Huainan all transcend to gods.
By the lake, retreats are built in proper order,
The flower garden leads directly to the mountain lodge.
Crabapple trees form a path, a screen for strolling,
Lotus blooms fill the isle, inviting a boat ride.
The bamboo study rustles with stems of jasper green,
The chrysanthemum slope gleams with coins of pure gold.
The moon-view tower, cloudless, feasts on autumn hues,
Wind in the pines thunders, startling the midday nap.
Floating cups rival the old winding water feast,
Brewing tea draws from the newly found Meng Spring.
For the mountain dweller, all four seasons are fine,
Riding a donkey or leaning on a staff, as he pleases.
The master early in life attained high honors,
Spurring his steed to the forefront of the busy ford.
His fame has flourished richly for forty long years,
Favored by three reigns, known for his talent and worth.
Now the sage ruler is vigorous in governance,
Seeking out the hidden worthy, leaving none behind.
Elders of the village emerge in succession,
You, sir, naturally stand shoulder to shoulder with them.
Thus holding authority, you head for Jiangxi,
Bestowed with imperial missives by the morning sun.
Who knew your thoughts would ever turn toward return,
Gazing at paintings, your heart lost in vast emptiness.
The day you beg retirement may not be too late,
With Red Pine and Yellow Stone, forgetting the years.
I see your naming of the tower holds deep meaning—
Flowing or halting, is it not Heaven's decree?
My skiff passed by your place but for a single night,
My heart longed to visit, yet my body had no chance.
By the time you return, I too shall have grown old,
Let's be neighbors and compose "Summons to the Recluse."