Have you not seen Su Wu, detained for nineteen years in the northern court?
Herding sheep that bore no young, return denied, swallowing felt could not still his starving gut's report.
Have you not seen Scholar Tao, at home through three winters, steeped in letters and lore?
Retiring from the Jade Hall, a pure zest was born, idly boasting of tea brewed by maids he'd implore.
I, a student, merely glut on the state granary's grain,
With heartfelt shame, thinking of those men, my spirit does wane.
My talent lacks the hand that wields the brush with might,
To eat this snow, does it not redden my face in plain sight?
In vain I've roamed the rivers and lakes, free and astray,
For years seeing snow, yet not a word I could say.
Only like a child leaping with glee at the sight,
Wishing to chant, I feel my wit barren and dry as night.
The north wind beat my head as we moored last eve,
At dawn, through the awning, a silver blur I perceive.
I gather it with a silver plate, mix with cane syrup sweet,
Stir with a silver spoon, crushing red coral complete.
One scoop enters my mouth, a fresh breeze does arise,
Another scoop, suddenly mind and heart feel clear and wise.
Scoop after scoop, I gulp swiftly, the plate is soon bare,
Goosebumps rise on my skin, my soul feels light as air.
After eating, I bow with folded hands, thanking the azure sky,
A petty scholar, I don't learn to feast on dew plates on high, nor seek immortality, a vain, greedy try.
I pray each flake be poetic fodder, to ingest,
To spit out Creation's force through my brush, manifest.
I'll not chant the mournful verses of bridge farewells, bleak,
Nor chant those mimicking the gourd, heaven's wrath to seek.
I only wish ice edges and snow blocks fill my heart's core,
To drift and transform into a 'Plum Blossom Ode' evermore.