Long rain leaves the village dim; / Fresh sun brings joy to all things.
Butterfly wings flit past the door; / Birdsong drifts from across the stream.
On wild paths, clogs hurry through; / Mountain mud splatters skirts in gleam.
Willows droop in spring's deep hush; / Falling blossoms like snow stream.
Half a moon of storm and hail; / Four fields of mist and water's dream.
The cold scroll won't be unrolled; / Woods and gullies blur, extreme.
Luckily, with fish and shrimp as friends, / Gladly with birds and beasts I team.
The deep hollow hides winding paths; / The cold stove steams, a hazy scheme.
Wild mortars pound herbs for cure; / Mountain kitchens lack meat, it'd seem.
Jars store the hermit's humble grain; / Streams cook the wild man's celery, a theme.
Delights fit for porcelain ice; / Fragrance from earthen steam, supreme.
Eagle-tea shoots grow an inch long; / Cat-bamboo shoots weigh pounds, a gleam.
Frugal life knows poverty's taste; / Dim light rewards sleep's gentle beam.
Mind wanders far or near at will; / Lying high, I watch dusk's gleam.
Plains and marshes rich with hemp and mulberry; / My humble gate scented by plants, a dream.
Retired from worldly burdens; / A recluse matches stars' esteem.
Poems recall spring pond's grass; / Books forget library's secret theme.
Paulownia saplings hold ancient hues; / Cypress seeds exhale strange perfume, supreme.
Records mourn a thousand years past; / Chessboards pity two armies' scheme.
With black cane, I share bed and meal; / With yellow calf, plowing's the theme.
Eyes dizzy from tiny print; / Arms chapped like a stork's beak, extreme.
Not a single exam passed; / Four limbs must toil, it'd seem.
In poor lane, a gourd serves drink; / In literary poverty, inkstone awaits flame.
A stubborn heart still stiff as wood; / A wrinkled face bears boot-crease seam.
Night tent: a lone ape's bitter rage; / Mountain fence: a dog's fierce scream.
How strange, to sigh at empty air; / Old now, what more to dream?
I too look down on other men; / Who'd ever love this being?
To shun noise, I hide my shadow; / To chase trends, muscles strain in vain.
Sun and moon, two flying birds; / Rivers and lakes, a swarm of gnats, a theme.
Let's go together, get drunk and leave; / No wine reaches Liu Fen's tomb, it'd seem.