A red phoenix's stance, towering in highest heavens;
A jade tree branch, solitary on a ten-thousand-ren peak.
Sir Liu, to devote himself thus—
His innate frame naturally draws much praise.
His fame has spread for twenty years,
The long road beneath his feet spans thousands of miles.
All the world draws near the ministerial halls,
My heart alone loves the waters of Yi River.
He discards power and gain as dust,
Just laughs proudly at the men of his time.
In few years his new poems made him a literary giant;
His memorial once summoned him to Penglai Palace.
The wise lord appointed him at Qilin Pavilion,
With gleaming carriage, fine steed, attended by jade-like page.
Eminent men come and go, distant as Mount Lu;
Recluses come and go, like Elder Zhang.
Funan sugarcane sweet as honey,
Mixed with lychee and Longzhou oranges.
The busy county's complex documents fill the offices,
White clouds, a lone peak, shine through the eternal day.
Morning, holding his tablet, he watches flying birds;
Evening, chants the Lankavatara Sutra facing an empty room.
One day he goes to govern between Fen River's banks;
The wise prefect descends his carriage, clerks and people at ease.
Sitting upright in the court, with no more disputes;
Opening the door, Witch Xian Mountain is just a step away.
Men plow, women weave, blessed by his benevolent rule;
Wheat ripens, pheasants call, autumn harvests flourish.
Next year when the Nine Ministries discuss merits,
Five summons and three recruitments should find him here.
I hear in Tongxiang there are elders of old,
Who still wish to erect a living shrine for him in the town.