A fine tree stands within the courtyard's bound,
Its clear shadows hang down on all sides around.
Often on stormy nights, wind and rain rife,
Dragons would come to lodge and share its life.
Kept for the phoenix pair, it's meant to stay,
No sparrows or swallows are allowed to prey.
Who says the crow is evil, dark, and base?
It builds its nest upon the highest place.
It cares not for the bright sun's glaring light,
But flies straight by the dark rainbow's somber sight.
Proud of its perch, it deems itself secure,
And never fears the arrows' threat obscure.
Alone it soars throughout the spring's three moons,
While other birds fold wings, hide plumes, and swoons.
The phoenix dares not vie with it for space,
Let alone ducks and geese of humble race.
Since it has gained its will and aim so high,
It thinks the world is easy to defy.
At broad daylight it snatches tripod's meat,
And picks at ease the sacrificial treat.
It won't avoid the men who come too near,
And scolds all night if roused to wrath and fear.
If it should overlook your roof and wall,
How can you shift the doom that will befall?
To hear its cry and think of pardon's grace,
Is but a foolish woman's wishful case.
Harm and resentment are its nature's core,
How would it bless you, kindness to restore?
Passers-by point at it and sigh with blame,
Children all curse and mock it with disdain.
The parrot, offered to the sovereign's hand,
Is prized for speech both clever and grand.
The kingfisher, sent to the treasury,
Provides adornment for nobility.
The pheasant, with its plumage fair and bright,
Is fit as gift, a reasonable rite.
The hawk and falcon chase the evil birds,
Heaven's might thus finds its executing words.
The ospreys' call, in Zhou's court held so dear,
Matches the queen's pure virtue, bright and clear.
None is as stubborn as this bird, I fear,
Well-fed, yet brings no benefit or cheer.
Not one good deed can from its act be won,
Its ill repute spreads widely with the sun.
It only knows to choose a fine abode,
And proudly builds its nest, a lofty load.
The public wrath is not to be ignored,
Yet by sheer luck it still has been adored.
Who knows if axes might not come one day,
To tear its nest and strip its plumes away?
And do not let the borers creep inside,
To make the tree's heart rot and open wide.
Nor love the strife that strikes with fierce attack,
To hook the owls and kites upon the rack.
Nor take delight in flattery's sweet tone,
Where fox and badger hide in holes alone.
All things that lead to great disaster's birth,
Rarely do not stem from pride's own worth.
If one knows not to leave and hide from sight,
These words suffice to guide one's own path right.
Alas, the plan to plant the tree so fine,
Has long been thwarted by events malign.
Since ancient times it has been ever so,
The strong men but lament in endless woe.