Ah the glorious willow catkins
and the mournful whinnies of a traveler's horse
seeing you off beside the Pa River
off to inspect our South Sea precincts
your name resounds in literary circles
where others trail behind you
what takes you so far away
on a trip of a thousand no ten thousand miles
where the Great Sea swallows the southeast coast
and the High Ranges bar the ends of the earth
where the ramparts overlook the home of the sun
and hot weather lasts all year
where envoys arrive from a hundred lands
bringing tribute and treasure for the throne
where the wealthy worry about insurrections
and rules of conduct aren't easy to uphold
but the Prefect enjoys Heaven's favor
and still assists on cinnabar steps
and you are his disciple
so how could this be exile
but if you should drink from the Spring of Greed
may your heart not be corrupted
and may you report to the one above
on the hunger and thirst of those below