My guides weave through green mountains
my travel pennants flap in spring wind
adjusting corvée in outlying towns
I ask about hardships in person
Chuanku Village is all water and mist
fishermen and woodsmen dot rivers and hills
suddenly I recall days in my garden
and nights on Lishan once more
over the years my temples have turned gray
my marriage and first post are a dream
oblivious to all that has happened this life
I sigh to have lived over two cycles more
but birth and death go on forever
with sorrows too many and joys too few
a high official's life isn't so grand
look at my tear-stained robe