蘭溪叟

The riverside market lies dim, in heavy shade,

The mountain clouds hang dark, a gloomy veil displayed.

A sudden thunder urges on a freezing rain,

In an instant, like an overturned basin, it pours again.

The flood swells, as dragons and serpents stir below,

The cliffs split, and demons and monsters flee and go.

The traveler, too, is dazed and lost in fright,

Leaves his oar and seeks a lonely village for the night.

At dawn, a clearing sky with floating light appears,

I step inside the gate of Lanjiang, calming fears.

A fierce wind fans the flames of plunder and of strife,

Of a hundred homes, only one or two retain their life.

Suddenly, I meet an old man, sick and frail,

Groaning on the difficult road, his strength does fail.

I ask him what illness causes such distress,

His body covered with scars from tax oppression's press.

A thousand villages are overgrown with thorn and weed,

How can they pay the royal taxes, meet the need?

Alas, my choice of path was dim, my vision poor,

Half a lifetime wasted in the scholar's lore.

Though I have the will to aid the world and mend,

Growing old, only sorrow and regret attend.

Facing this, my heart is struck with deep dismay,

A chilling dread makes every hair on end today.