The imperial flame lost control, the land split three ways.
The King of Wu ruled Jing and Yue, built his capital by the Yangtze.
He relied on loyal ministers to pacify the Huaihai people.
The Wei ruler wished to cross, but turned his army at the river.
Not just the natural moat, but the men within were feared.
Alas, the Marquis of Guiming, his tyranny ruined past deeds.
He entered Luoyang with jade in mouth, bowed as a Jin subject.
Soon his ancestral temple fell, bringing grief and bitterness.
Then came the Yongjia era's end, the Central Plains choked with dust.
Five steeds crossed the river afloat, one dragon leaped to Tianjin.
Then the great enterprise was built, truly by worthy gentry.
Though lands expanded not far, the framework was majestic.
Lord Xie aided the royal house, with authority swept false Qin.
Who says Wu's troops were weak? Their use lay in proper order.
Time passed through Song and Qi's end, swiftly changed to Liang and Chen.
Six dynasties spanned and passed, rise and fall intertwined.
In virtue, not terrain, lies success or failure's cause.
High walls returned to moats, grand halls crumbled to thorns.
Royal grace long extinguished, yet noble aura lingers faint.
The imperial domain, one region, profound influence reaches boundless.
Often said the cosmos is peaceful, suddenly met with thunderous strife.
Gazing to Liang and Song's outskirts, vast and dim with baleful air.
How to gain a sky-cleaving sword, to slash this sea-spanning scale?
Pacing by river and hills at dusk, moved, but for whom to plead?