Around the Huai, houses stretch in a thousand districts,
Painted eaves, splendid beams, where pipes and reeds play.
Smelting metal, casting molds, forging the pivot,
Ice melts, water releases, in no time at all.
Before thieves, begging for death, fleeing through fire,
How many escape traces, fleeing rivers and lakes.
Quietly thinking of friends, old faces fill my eyes,
Not seizing divine disaster,遭遇囚禁俘虏.
Among them, are there not good people?
How can they transform and return to the same sign?
All my life, Xuanzi's heart is rich with cares,
First serving white-haired parents, leading children.
Wu mountains, Yue mountains, fine places to be,
Cooking fragrant rice, singing Wu songs.
My home was robbed and burned, my father's estate,
Often relying on leftover virtue to soften Heaven's punishment.
Grieving, sick, I bid farewell to neighbors,
Ruggedly, barely made it to Eastern Wu.
In this world, what after all are grain and millet?
You and I are separated by a corner of the sky.
Lately I hear your verses are no less than before,
Once vigorous brush vying in splendid display.
Phoenix wings trapped in prefectures and counties,
Moreover dealing with dregs of wine and trifling coins.
Across the river, longing imagines our meeting,
How can two feet grow a pair of wild ducks?
By the stream, woodcutter's wind urges the short oar,
Moon on the staff's head, along with wine pot.
Ten servings offered, five are too few,
All affairs in one drunk, truly a fine plan.