The virtue of the East Tower flows without end,
My lord, born outstanding, is where blessings descend.
Like jade trees and jasper branches, radiant and bright,
Aloof, he does not fall into the dusty world's plight.
In youth, his noble spirit soared like a rainbow high,
His literary talent never lagged behind his peers, no lie.
His mind holds wondrous strategies, a statesman's art,
To cut through complex matters is but a minor part.
Once in a lotus tent, he tested his sharp blade,
The whole city knew only Liu, the officer who never swayed.
His eloquent recommendation moved the emperor's ear,
A single word surpassed the praise of royal robes, so clear.
The court wished to reform the ills south of the Ridge,
They sought talent and found Governor Wu, a perfect bridge.
Drinking from the Spring of Greed did him no harm,
His pure virtue, cold and clear, now wins acclaim and charm.
With grace, he pacified the seven Min regions wide,
All counties joined in praise, a fitting man to guide.
For ten years hence, he held the command's staff in hand,
Making ten thousand miles feel spring's warmth across the land.
By Dongting's breeze and moon, in Xiang's rain he'd stay,
The sovereign no longer worried for the south's dismay.
He petitioned to retire, seeking half a life's leisure,
Pointing to his homeland hills, he left with measured pleasure.
The court would not let such great talent idle lie,
Opening the East Pavilion wide, they called him nigh.
At dawn, he followed summons to the heavenly gate,
At night, by courier's steed, to the long Huai he'd haste.
In Guangling, ruling while reclining, like Ji Zhi of old,
His golden insignia shone bright, on bear-adorned carriage bold.
What need for a waist wrapped with coins, ten thousand strong?
Just watch him enjoy two thousand bushels, all along.
Suddenly he thought of perch stew and wild rice soup,
Brushing his robe, he wished to follow his hometown's loop.
Leaving Xiyang as if discarding worn-out shoes,
His manner calm and aloof, like Dou Sheng, he pursues.
Painted boats once more sail on West Lake's gentle face,
Water's glow and mountain hues remain in their grace.
The master leads the east wind back with gentle hand,
Peach and plum in his old garden feel doubly grand.
Six giant turtles bear three mountains back to shore,
Gnarled old cypresses stand like dragons, legends lore.
No vulgar dust can spoil the mood, so pure and free,
His desk and long objects are all rare artistry.
With silk cap sideways, crane-feather cloak he wears,
His spirit seems from the age of Fuxi, beyond cares.
Worldly affairs never reach his ears, it seems,
Lying, he listens to warm songs from theater streams.
Before Hundred Flowers Hall, he planted with his hand,
When inspiration comes, one cup follows, unplanned.
Life also seeks its own comfort, as we see,
What are wealth and honor, then, to someone like me?
Mid-spring, especially on his birthday's festive day,
The governor's pavilions bask in warm light's play.
The Spring Lord lends an extra share of spring's delight,
Forbidding fragrant blooms to leave spring's hall in flight.
In deep fragrance of silks, the feast begins anew,
Brothers toast and pass cups, a merry retinue.
At this moment, cherish a drunk, even more,
Where will you, sir, pluck the hanging lotus from the shore?
Five marquises, noble and rich, lack virtue's grace,
Their pins and tassels don't fill Gaoyang's lofty place.
How better to pass down a pure and white family style,
Generation on generation, blue felt turns to red, worthwhile.
Now dwelling in peace, glad to be neighbors near,
Yet like all under heaven, needs a potter's wheel, clear.
Feather dispatches arrive soon, morning or night,
Why count lambs and geese that merely form a crowd in sight?
In Lotus City, there's an immortal's abode,
Ten isles and three isles encircle it, on they rode.
Joy here is no less than in Shangshan's retreat,
When merit's done, return to be a mushroom-eater, sweet.