The Gui Ridge scrapes the sky, the rapids churn the earth, both vast and grand,
All stone's transformations, all spirit's secrets, were by Yu the Great's hand.
Thus the high peaks stand sheer, piercing the void, like whetted spears in a row,
While below, caverns stretch wide and deep, as if halls and towers they'd show.
Behold the Dragon Cliff, its vaulted dome spanning the boundless space,
Rising a hundred feet from the ground, coiling, poised to seize with grace.
Riding the wind, mounting the clouds, they leave to bring rain to parched land,
Or become sages like Laozi, Kongming, models for every strand.
Their fused forms, adorned with scales and crimson manes, seem as if just made,
Awakened by wind, dampened by rain, they loom, as if about to raid.
Dragon-keepers lost their posts; Kong Jia and Liu Lei let their arts decay,
So they dance in pools, wail like worms, by the world's trampling held at bay.
I once at Lake Ze beheld the sea and sky held in one grasp,
And saw the sacred creature descend to drink waves in a watery clasp.
Its azure scales, long tail, girth like an arm, veiled in mist so thin,
Then in a flash it soared, with thunderclaps and hail amidst the din.
I rejoiced at the grand sight, unmatched before or after, near the sky's rim,
Who knew in white-haired age, in southern heat, I'd trace each stream and limb?
Caressing their mighty forms, I sigh, constrained in praise's art,
The deep pool still awaits my visit, where with pure beasts I'd impart.
The mountain empty, moon cold, wind and dew bleak—with whom to share delight?
Yet gazing on these traces, moved by hills and vales, I stare in fright.
I carve this verse, rugged and strange, to match the primal might,
Engraved in the cliff's cleft, with sun and moon it shares eternal light.