Alone, my boat lands west of Rang,
Turn my head, gaze at the two cliffs' gang.
East town in droughty sky,
Its air like burning firewood high.
Long shadows vanish in the deep,
Remaining light scatters, secrets keep.
The great river coils with embedded root,
Returning to sea, becomes one route.
Rushing down, it cuts the earth's axis,
Towering cliffs cluster like Moye swords' basis.
Desolate, it sprinkles autumn hue,
Hazy gloom veils the sun's chariot true.
The gorge gate starts from here,
Narrowest, allowing floating wood to steer.
Yu's work aided Creation's hand,
Dredging and chiseling made the slanting land.
A giant channel breached primeval day,
All waters form a long snake's way.
Wind and mist blur Wu and Shu,
Boats and oars transport salt and hemp through.
I am now a wanderer far from home,
Drifting and turning, mixed with mud and loam.
All things cling to their innate nature,
Restrain myself, no luxury to capture.
A thatched roof covers a single bed,
Clear pond has leftover flowers spread.
Turbid wine and unpolished grain,
Before my eyes, no cause to complain.
Mountains barren, people few,
Land remote, day and evening fine in view.
Poverty and illness are their constant state,
Wealth and honor leave to fate.
Aging amidst spear and shield,
My hut luckily screened by humble field.
Rocks in chaos rise with cloud's breath,
Firs clear, prolong the moonlight's wreath.
Appreciating beauty, extra delight,
Reason satisfied, what need to boast in sight?
Enough for my white-haired years,
Dare I rank with hermits, peers?
Writing this clears my past days' strife,
Looking back, still like evening clouds of life.