At dawn I rise from my crude bed,
Frost and snow face the withered hedge.
Family comes to tell me,
Today there's no morning meal to pledge.
Salt and vinegar are ready, yet
Firewood and charcoal hard to dredge.
Who are those living in plenty?
Skills differ, each finds its edge.
Some years I follow official summons,
Kin and guests suffer river's dredge.
Though not against my will I enter,
Exit often follows as a pledge.
At Wu's gate and southern fields,
I also hold the hoe's sharp edge.
Sometimes encountering a bumper year,
Year's accounts still can't balance on a ledge.
Yan Yuan, a worthy man indeed,
In a poor lane found joy as pledge.
I recall Pei Ziye within,
Calmly sipping his thin porridge pledge.
Ashamed I lack the ancients' heart,
Worried and sad with morning hunger's wedge.
Near antiquity is still beyond reach,
The highest sage? A distant ledge.
Alas, the trend of the times fans,
Causing my upright nature to hedge.
Cunning and wisdom vie in toil,
Twisting, breeding shallowness's dredge.
I see the golden seal of office,
Not better than a pine branch's edge.
If coarse fare has fish and beans,
Why seek fine robes and carriage's pledge?
I regret my household's clumsiness,
Willing to let inferiors scoff and wedge.
How to get a single cup?
Drunk, then I'll know nothing as pledge.