In life, there's no wise or foolish,
All drift like dust in the wind.
Unless one becomes an immortal,
Who can avoid endangering his life?
Both you and I have white hair now,
Toiling constantly in hardship and bitterness.
Though I serve as a Secretary in the Ministry,
I am not as good as a villager.
I recall those villagers of old,
Their joys are hard to fully describe.
Lush fields of mulberry and hemp intertwined,
They considered dukes and marquises their equals.
Heaven has not yet tired of war,
Our kind has always been poor.
You still sojourn in Jingzhou,
I too am stranded by the riverbank.
Falling ill in the gorge,
Malaria plagued me through winter and spring.
Spring brought added lung ailment,
This illness surely has its cause.
In early years, with Su and Zheng,
We drank deeply, our affection close.
Those two gentlemen have turned to dust,
Loving wine, they never lost their true selves.
I now entrust myself to fate's length,
How can I resent my hard lot?
I hear your spirit is very strong,
Your encounters are truly like rare treasures.
Mounting a horse without needing support,
If helped, you'd surely scold in anger.
Composing poems among guests,
Your brushwork moves the eight horizons.
Then I know a hand that tops the age,
Whose talent grows more divine with age.
The Green Grass Lake of Dongting,
Floats east to the edge of the blue sea.
Jun Mountain offers escape from summer heat,
And is ample for gathering white duckweed.
Do you not have a small boat,
To travel back and forth on the Jiang and Han rivers?
I have not yet descended the Qutang Gorge,
Vainly thinking of Yu's diligent labor.
I hear of Songmen Gorge,
Where one vomits medicine, clutching clothes and towel.
In high autumn, I'll fasten my belt anew,
Paddle my boat and gaze at the blue sky.
The Phoenix Pond grows clearer each day,
Gathering many new talents.
I, ill, cannot rise,
You, healthy, must not hesitate.
Above, there is a wise and discerning sovereign;
Below, there are ministers who carry out transformation.