An old friend $(of mine)$ has prepared chicken and millet
And invited me to come home to his farmhouse.
Green trees come together beside the village;
Blue hills slope away beyond the city walls.
Where the meal is set out we are facing on to his fields;
We chat over ale about things like mulberry and flax.
I’m going to wait till the festival of the Double Ninth,
Then I’m coming back for chrysanthemum wine!