I ponder Heaven's gift of life,
A vessel empty, frail, and rife.
At five, I learned from mother's care,
With fervent will to read and dare.
At seven, I discerned tone's art,
Toiled hard at poems, played my part.
At nine, I held the public scrolls,
With dashing aim for lofty goals.
I begged for village elders' word,
To take the spring official test, preferred.
Plucking laurel, shamed by its height,
By lotus, what scent feels right?
Clumsy by nature, no flattery I weave,
Talent short, no room to achieve.
Years past, I met a knowing friend,
His recommendation had no solid end.
Would I see people's justice done?
In vain, I bear the prince's favor, won.
From Qutang to Bayu I went,
Back and forth, reins of fame I bent.
A lone boat in the river's flow,
Hardships and perils real, I know.
Many pull the hundred-fathom line,
Facing danger, none resign.
Torrents burst from the river's bed,
Water boils in stones, it's said.
Drumbeats claim the width they beat,
Tying threads, they call the weft complete.
Good and evil—how to tell?
Life and death—what need to quell?
Riding rail or near the hall's edge,
I know the warnings, pledge by pledge.
By abyss or treading ice,
I know deep thought would yet suffice.
Now bound by official sash and band,
Who'll grant a kindly piece of land?
City fox and temple rat,
Whom do their cunning arts begat?
Slavish looks and kneeling knees,
Whom do their ugly truths appease?
Wife and children far away,
My face has worn to grim decay.
Those who reach the clouds on high,
Sigh and gasp, all wise and sly.