All day I hear horses whinny
why don't they stop at my hut
you've come from drinking with the magistrate
what can I do lying here ill
autumn wind stis along the waterside
I open my door to a sea of rushes
I never hear any news
of things distant or even nearby
someone who's hirsty doesn't long for fire
someone who's cold doesn't look for water
our lives are transient affairs
thus do we come and go
still our thoughts and deeds have rarely differed
and our affection has remained unchanged