Wood conforms to compass and square, in the hands of the carpenter.
Man's ability to be human stems from a belly filled with poetry and books.
Diligence yields poetry and books; without it, the belly is empty.
To know the power of learning, wise and foolish start the same.
From their failure to learn, their paths diverge into different lanes.
Two families each bear a son, infants alike in cleverness.
Young, they gather in play, no different than fish in a school.
Reaching twelve or thirteen, their budding horns begin to part.
By twenty, gradually estranged, clear ditch mirrors filthy drain.
At thirty, bones set, one becomes a dragon, the other a pig.
The steed Feihuang gallops away, cannot look back at the toad.
One becomes a foot soldier before horses, whip-raised sores breed maggots.
One becomes a duke or minister, dwelling in deep, vast mansions.
Ask why this is so? It lies in learning or the lack thereof.
Gold and jade, though precious treasures, are spent, hard to store.
Learning stored within the self remains as long as the self exists.
Gentleman or petty man, it does not hinge on parents' status.
Have you not seen dukes and ministers rising from plow and hoe?
Have you not seen descendants of high ministers, cold, hungry, leaving without a donkey?
Are writings not valuable? Classical teachings are the fertile field.
Puddles have no source, full at dawn, gone by eve.
A man ignorant of past and present is an ox or horse in human robes.
Conducting oneself falls into injustice, how then hope for much fame?
Season of autumn, accumulated rains clear, fresh cool enters outskirts.
Lamplight becomes somewhat dear, scrolls can be rolled and unrolled.
Do I not think of you day and night, cherishing your fleeting time?
Duty and affection may conflict; I write this poem urging resolve.