Warfare long unceasing
Farmers turned soldiers, people sigh heavily.
Counties in turmoil
Earth collapses, waters burst.
No ripe grain in the fields
No mulberry or hemp on the ridges.
Royal spring judges the season
All plants sprout shells, holding buds.
A traveler flees war, runs to remote places
Treading perilous paths to Three Ba.
His marten coat, shaggy, now worn to threads
Hair at his temples wild and disheveled.
Sparrows startle, mice cower
How can one find peace?
Alone in the inn, no good dreams
Worse still, to trek through wind and sand.
Heaven's craftsmen overnight shear jade essence
By dawn, all turned to six-petal flowers.
Southern fields not yet a foot deep
Fine flakes dance wildly, chaotically grasping air.
Falling, then chased by the morning sun, they melt
Eaves' ice pillars as if carved, interlaced.
Some low, some high
Large and small, crystal pure.
Following form, no distinction
First I suspect jade dragons descend to our world
All spreading claws and fangs toward thatched eaves.
Then suspect Han Gaozu
Before he slew the serpent in the west.
Unrecognized by men
Who wields the Mo-ye sword against the wind?
Clanging, the ice has rhythm
Glistening, jade without flaw.
Not as timely rain for the four seasons
Only to become mud and slush on roads.
Not as the waves of Nine Rivers
Only to vanish at heaven's edge.
Not as water from Twin Wells
Filling a bowl to brew spring tea.
Not as Zhongshan wine
Fresh and fragrant, filling a hundred carts.
Not as pond or marsh
For raising fish and planting water chestnuts, causing endless rain.
Not as sweet spring or sweet dew
To gain fame as rare auspicious signs, praised by the world.
Specially endowed with dawn's clear essence
Purely self-asserted, no gap between near and far.
A dense aura congeals for a thousand miles
A dripping sound sinks into a hundred thousand homes.
Bright though small
Its darkness, vast, cannot be covered.
Do not be covered by curved tiles
Straight down, it cannot suppress all evils.
But alas, time presses
It cannot stay long before my eyes.
Suddenly it drifts away, leaving no trace
Its formation and destruction left to Heaven's law.
Heaven, for this thing, should not be so unfair
Instead letting well-frogs and wall-insects change so easily.
Turning their backs, shrinking heads, competing with chirps
I wish the Son of Heaven would reverse Creation's work
Store it in a jeweled case, to admire its radiant light.