Have you not seen Zheng Qian, who in his later years studied calligraphy with greater zeal,
And gathered three rooms full of persimmon leaves each year?
When inspiration came, he forgot both sleep and food,
Only feeling that Master Mao grew old and bald indeed.
Have you not seen the cartwright selecting timber from the woods,
Among all trees, the persimmon alone lacks fire's trace?
Old sayings claim the canopy and axle symbolize heaven and earth,
Believe that all revolves and returns to a single axis' girth.
How splendid is this fruit with constant virtue blessed,
It bears its fruit regardless of whether the year is lean or best.
After frost, ten thousand gems adorn the chilly grove,
Looking down on yellow oranges as servants from above.
The 'ox-heart' shape is somewhat similar in name,
How can the 'flatiron' title bring it any shame?
When dried by fire, it's said to warm the chest and core,
When chilled, it's known to soothe the fever and restore.
This year, summer and autumn brought timely rains in store,
All say harmonious qi has gathered in grains galore.
The western harvest yields but half of what was grown,
Showing how yin and yang expand and shrink, as known.
Among them, crimson fruits are plentiful and large,
Dazzling across the fields, a sight that might discharge.
Compared to common years, they are beyond compare,
Just like a contest where the measure's hard to square.
Our nation's fortune suffers from strong foes' distress,
For a full cycle now, we've armed in readiness.
This year, the empty courtyard witnessed bloodshed's stain,
I have no doubts left, what more is there to explain?
Harmony in crops and shoes was deemed an ancient sign,
The great persimmon's omen brings the world fortune fine.
Let me continue singing and present it to our lord,
When a king achieves his deeds, all lands will accord.