My dream embraced the world within a single wall,
Clapping hands, a thousand gates shone with patterns tall.
Why bind thatch by the cloud-roots, against the stone?
The stream-view, cliff-dwelling—Heaven made them my own.
I recall lying sick in the year Renwu, past,
Dream-walking by creek rocks, resting in a house vast.
Often the sign 'Da An' marked the gate in plain sight,
In large golden script, I gazed up with delight.
Good omens should have parted action from repose,
Two decades wasted, regret for what never grows.
At six, I lost both parents, sorrow's heavy toll,
Three siblings died in turn, tears for the shared soul.
A lone shadow, perilous track, nest in a tent,
Like a disowned son, lone minister, breath all spent.
I couldn't bear to sit by the hall, though gold's near,
Ten years—how could they repay the care, so dear?
Six Zhang, five Jiao—all empty, luck's cruel design,
Ten thousand deaths, one life, escaping the confine.
Washing rice on spear-tips, cooking on sword's edge,
Plowing in clear skies, reaping in rain, I pledge.
Weeds and roots bear thorns, a harsh, unwelcoming land,
Rat's teeth, sparrow's tongue—all strong forces withstand.
Intent steps raise mountains underfoot, barriers rise,
Evening plans, morning schemes end in compromise.
Fail first, then miss chances, timing all amiss,
Throat's turn offends taboos, silence invites dismiss.
When poor, rich friends show true bonds, or so they say,
Honest deeds, loyal words—still guilt finds its way.
One root can't make kin close, though blood ties are strong,
How can all under heaven share brotherhood's song?
Fate's odd, I blush at General Li's famed disgrace,
Five poverties—yet Han Yu didn't lose face.
Life's beauty and evil half balance, give or take,
I taste one flavor—no sweet, no bitter ache.
At fifty, knowing faults, plans come far too late,
Seize the moment now—still better than to wait.
Building a hut here fulfills a predestined tie,
Settling calmly, I play lord of stream and sky.
Peaks and gorges crowd, none too steep or severe,
Layered tips, flying branches—none show a sneer.
One room, dust-settled, called 'Complete Clumsiness',
Tea pot, wine jar, books—a simple happiness.
A grass pavilion by the stream leans on Dream Creek,
Watching fish swim, I call cranes, their dance I seek.
The land rich with pines, bamboos, lush and serene,
Orchids in woods breathe fragrance, ever green.
Spring water cleans ears—why mind a pillow's rest?
Sunny eaves warm the back—still a humble nest.
Gathering herbs, seeking plums, crossing the ridge,
Empty green, misty smoke, welcome each step's bridge.
Who are those riding strong steeds, driving fat carts?
My cane of thorn-wood props me, plays its own parts.
Household lamps light the fence, a gentle, warm glow,
Moon on hilltop peeks through pines, a silent show.
Following clouds home, chasing the stream-wind's flight,
I rejoice—this body light as a feather's might.
Content, I don't scorn meals of wild herbs plain,
Sleep sound, why wait for bell or drum's refrain?
Youth's face fades in the mirror, no more the same,
Fame and gain rot before the cup, a hollow flame.
Long through adversity, loyalty grows more true,
Why probe deep schemes, where cunning thoughts accrue?
Events rise and vanish like bubbles on the stream,
Life's journey, actions—all an inn, a dream.
Jade hall or thatched hut—both a transient place,
Quail's rise, roc's soar—each finds its flying space.
War of Mantis and Snail—two蜗牛角s fight,
Chicken or worm's gain—no worth, no lasting light.
Rise and fall, sweat of horses, oxen—all vain,
Wise and foolish, buried in dust, none remain.
A long shout won't hinder heaven and earth's bound,
Wandering thoughts return to books' hallowed ground.
Know this—when year ends, sun slants, time grows late,
This heart only with emptiness keeps its date.
A cup, a chant—for my own joy, I engage,
Never hurt the present, nor dwell on past age.
Fate and effort—vague, not worth debate or strife,
Just recount my life, record this humble life.