Night-long rain turns ditches to muddy sludge,
Withered stems and eaten leaves clutter the path.
In pond hollows, tadpoles wriggle and bud,
In jar bellies, vinegar flies swarm and buzz.
A damp-born breed, kin to maggots and leeches,
Tossed upside-down, they leap, float, then fall.
Once a sunny breeze whispers and stirs,
They sprout wings and feet, ready to soar.
At first they drift slowly in the sun's light,
Gathering in troops by the corner of eaves.
Like snowflakes with sound, they drift in formation,
Like willow catkins without trees, rolling into balls.
You have nothing to do with humans, truly,
Why then buzz and whine beside our ears?
Buzz and whine—yet that's not your crime;
You cling to our temples, bite our skin, and refuse to leave.
Sometimes deep at night you come with pomp,
Disturbing the study lamp, haunting like a fiend.
Who in past days lent you your name?
Calling you 'wen'—can it match 'patterned feet'?
Your mottled marks are but leopard-like feet,
Your bravery lacks the eagle's fierce fist.
Mosquito, hear me, listen well:
Have you not heard of the great roc spreading wings,
Leaving the southern sea, soaring ninety thousand miles like rising clouds?
Have you not heard of the phoenix gracing Emperor Shun's court,
With nine ornaments adorning, joining the four sacred beasts?
Why then bustle solely in dusty clamor?
I know well the comparison is not your kind.
In my garden's shaded wall, you may rest,
Preserve yourself like the glowworm of rotting grass.
Sucking dew far surpasses blood's foul stench;
If your mouth's karma ceases, retribution will lighten.
Otherwise, incense and flame shall end your form—
My words are not vain, bright as sun and stars.