The four seasons share time equally, one climate cannot rule them all.
Deep cold steals spring's order, Zhuanxu is truly not fair at all.
Taihao slackens his reins, avoids and only keeps humble.
Thus beneath the Yellow Springs, sprouts die, bent and sharp.
Plants no longer sprout, all flavors lose bitter and sweet.
Fierce storms churn the cosmos, blades sharper than lancets cut deep.
Sun and moon, though deemed noble, cannot keep crow and toad alive.
Xihe escorts the sun out, timid, peeking often from his drive.
Flame Emperor holds Zhu Rong, his breath and puff bring no heat.
And I in such a time, how can favor's light on me alight?
Skin grows scales, clothes and quilts feel like sickle blades.
Air so cold the nose can't smell, blood frozen, fingers can't pick.
Turbid wine boils down the throat, mouth corners as if clamped by a vice.
About to take spoon and chopsticks to eat, touching them feels like touching spikes.
Approaching the stove brings no warmth, though blazing charcoal's added again.
Testing hot water gives no gain, let alone silk and fine linen.
Tigers and leopards stiff in dens, flood dragons die in hidden deeps.
Mars loses its course, six dragons' ice-beards off they leap.
Within the vast cosmos, all living kinds fear total wipe.
Chirping sparrows by the window, unaware they've grown so slight.
Lift heads, cry to the sky, wishing only moments to delay.
Better die by shot and arrow, then be cooked close, in a way.
If the phoenix does not survive, you're surely not in the prophecy.
The rest of the wriggling lot, all die, who cares or spares?
I, called most intelligent, cannot cover you with thatch.
Grief stirs angry sighs, five viscera find no calm patch.
Midnight, leaning on the wall I stand, how my tears stream down.
Heaven's King pities the innocent, favors me with downward glance.
Lift the beads, remove ear-plugs, harmonize, bring plum and salt.
The worthy daily ascend to serve, expel the arrogant and false.
Living wind blows dead air away, open as lifting a screen.
Icicles break and fall, morning light enters the front eaves.
Snow and frost swiftly melt, earth's veins grow rich and cling.
Not only orchids flourish, it extends to weeds and reeds.
Sunlit calyxes gleam bright, wind-swayed branches sit graceful.
Heaven, if it can do this, my death-wish would also fade.