食魚

In the south there is a fine fish, rare, often arriving by the fourth month.

River and sky await its coming; misty nets compete to hang dense.

First they play at the tips of shore duckweed, then follow the watercress banks.

Light skiffs vie in shaking, wide nets enclose the green ripples.

Searching deep algae by the shore, from empty waves emerge white whiskers.

A few heads retain a red hue, two colors like silver form.

Selling them is urgent business; how dare one delay knowing their fresh plumpness?

Copper coins haggle for price; splendid houses buy the novel fare.

Pearl-like foam lines the strips warmed, frosty scales fall with the blade's edge.

Tapping the skull, jade gathers bones; cleaving the flank, brocade parts the flesh.

Flavor complements fragrant cabbage, pleasing; fragrance matches bitter bamboo shoots, fitting.

In the soup bowl, smooth jade melts; on the chopsticks, cold threads dangle.

The Xiang eel is not my match; the river bream, who can compare?

Offering the new, why still value sturgeon? Ripened poison differs from the {fish-ji}.

The perch marvels at leaving office easily; the mackerel dislikes sobering up late.

Naturally one should often add it to meals; pity it passes the season so swiftly.