Sir, crossing this river is not to be sailed,
Aged in years, yet in wisdom a child.
To ford the torrent headlong, why so lost and wild?
Is there such haste that demands you be exiled?
No one ahead to pull, none behind to push,
Nor any trackers at your door to flush,
Before you reach the eastern market's slaughter, to die like cattle in the dust.
The river flows ahead under the sun's white glare,
Who would cover its yellow waves with brocade so fair?
Do you not see the source, writhing down from Kunlun's height,
Pouring from heaven, flooding earth, a thousand miles in might?
Rushing headlong into the Central Plain's domain,
With a single strike, no dike or levee can remain.
Trampling the earth, pounding the sky in its spree,
Yet you, blind to its power, walk on carefree.
Swinging your arms, you go, not even lifting your gown,
Unable to ride the wind or air, why play the clown?
The river's flow, vast and grand,
The malice of its whales and leviathans, none can understand.
With long spears for fins, saws for tails they wield,
Cliffs of knives, caves of axes, jagged teeth revealed.
You would offer your body to their hungry maw,
In life no hardship, yet death is the final law.
To die of hunger and cold, bones still find a grave,
A coffin sent to the pine-clad hill, where cypresses wave.
Why become a ghost of the river, in Fengyi's murky lair,
Where beneath the turbid mud, no bridge is there?
Why not let yourself be pressed, fall down and cease?
Alas, the konghou's music by the river, bringing no peace.