The men of Lu held the Master cheap, pointing east to his humble home.
Though unrecognized in his own time, disciples gathered like hemp's dense foam.
Yet how could the folk of his own village not sigh for his fate?
In the narrow lands of Wu and Yue, seeking his bones, they'd travel far, undaunted by the state.
Familiarity breeds no wonder; to islanders, dragons are but fish, their awe supplanted.
Alas, what am I worth mentioning? In poverty I dwell, with no carriage when I go.
Recently I entered the capital, where my writings won some praise, you know.
Old friends would not believe it, hearing it, they laughed with glee.
Only the two Rens, Ren Ziyan and Ren Ziyi, knew there was merit in me.
From distant travels, you pined for me, sending long letters, fragrant as flowers in bloom.
My path is not yet thus, but have you found no increase in your own room?
Poor and aged, my short hair hangs thin and sparse.
High office holds no lure; I think of tilling mountain fields, a simple, rustic parse.
In past years I planted bitter bamboo, dense as reeds, fine and tall.
Before the courtyard, three small hills stand, originally mountain hawthorns, I recall.
Now I dig a square pond in front, where cold springs reflect the craggy wall.
I could enjoy this all day long; why tread the morning court's thrall?
When will you come to join me? With wine and food, we'll feast and call.
May we long respect each other, from start to end, with no flaw at all.
At leisure, with nothing to do, come often to drink the flowing sunset's pall.