秋夜有感

Why do the seasonal insects chirp so mournfully?

As year grows late, their voices pierce the wall for me.

Not only do they startle lazy wives from sleep,

But move this white-haired guest, emotions buried deep.

In prime of life I served in marches, war's alarms,

Ten thousand miles away, with never respite's charms.

I raised my sail to climb autumn's towering tide,

And spurred my horse toward mountain posts to ride.

Sun shone on venom dripped by dragons in the deep,

Snow bore the prints of wolves and tigers on the steep.

Who knew this body of seven feet would survive,

And luckily escape from perils nine of five?

The year before last, I served in capital's domain,

In audience beheld the Emperor's jade-like mien.

To repay grace, no place to die I could command,

Bowed twice, my declining tears fell on the land.

Now I've returned to my old hills, with deeper sighs,

More keenly feel old age's pressing claims arise.

Sleepless, I rise up in the midnight's silent reign,

And gaze upon the stars, distinct and clear their train.

When will the Central Plains be settled, peace restored?

The bronze camel lies throned in thorns, by time ignored.

To crush the northern foe—alas, no hero's found,

And even if one rose, he'd not be recognized around.