The governor returns from Siming, fresh and bright,
Inviting me to write of joy shared in delight.
The lovely hills and streams I miss, unseen by sight,
Daydreaming, night-long yearning, my heart takes flight.
As if in spirit meeting, insights I obtain,
My body seems transported to the sky's domain.
The swelling sea meets heaven, shores fade from the eye,
Sea-gods sit back while mermaids watch the waves roll by.
With hands they wield the sun and moon, elixirs rare,
Turning mulberry fields to boundless waters there.
By chance I come from seaside to this mountain town,
Where spring winds in the second month blow up and down.
Oxen and sheep at leisure in the sunset glow,
Towers and pavilions through the morning mist show.
A mountain stream, Buddha's head green, flows serene,
Encircled by six folds of emerald screen.
Amidst the bustling crowd, in joy they engage,
With falling blooms, crying birds, and islets on the stage.
Twelve terraced pavilions stand in rivalry,
With painted ceilings and carved rafters fair to see.
A passerby points out and asks what this might be,
'Tis said to be the Siming place of revelry.
This joy is for the folk, not for oneself alone,
Thus worthy Qian, the governor, has shown.
Who can compare with his refined and graceful air?
In governance like Cigong, in verse like Short Li fair.
Drunk, leaning on his carriage, he urges the plough;
Wild, taking conch cups, he dances, sleeves aflow.
We love you, governor, please do not go away,
What can we do if royal summons take you away?
I hear you wait by the Jade Emperor's incense stand,
Yet news is blocked, deep in the Silver Terrace land.
Confused, I wake to sit in my empty room,
And suddenly recall your poem of yesterday's bloom.
I fold the paper, write what I have seen with care,
But is this joy for all truly beyond compare?