Five old men with weathered faces, hidden in this ten-mile valley.
Lone and distinguished, their features angular; lean bones, hungry for flesh.
Waving hands part the clouds and mist, revealing the steep stream's open belly.
Thus I learn that wondrous forms are not always found on mountain slopes.
Venturing deep, I chance upon them, wishing to flee but too late to shrink back.
I also pity the deer-like grace, as they glance back with dark, gleaming eyes.
I wish to tug at their sleeves, yet they should not turn my carriage around.
Looking back at the ravine's depths, lush and towering stand the tall trees.
Even these are leftover beams and pillars, let alone asking about brushwood and thickets.
I too have escaped the net, drifting alone like a duck on rivers and lakes.
Thinking this, it's hard to bend the waist; I never had Su Qin's six seals.
Unexpectedly, I journey with you, feasting heartily in your spacious house.
You still write to dispel cares, proud of your sharp words like broken arrowheads.
One look at the cold cloud-lying life surely scorns the warmth of power's gates.
Knowing well the meal of wild herbs, I'd not trade for a hastily made porridge.
Laugh at me, idly dusting my hat; short hair cannot bear a thorough wash.
Truly fear drying up on the wall; don't let me creep like a snail in distress.
But I shall tend to my poetic craft, gathering all phenomena into my grasp.
I wish to be wild with the wine spirit, sweeping clean the baldness of official documents.
Is this plan right or wrong? I'll further consult with you for divination.