A square hole doesn't work with round pegs
a straight board can't serve as a wheel
materials all have their uses
denying our nature only makes us bitter
bending at the waist isn't my kind of job
surviving on soup isn't my kind of thrift
I'm retiring from life in a meaningless hall
I'll nurse my ills beyond the dust and noise
fishes swim free but still form schools
wild birds too form flocks
I'll be on Tuling in the family garden
perfumed by thoughts of a thousand years
or on Sungshan when the sky first clears
or between the two rivers after a spring snow
the flowering trees aren't yet in bloom
but new plants appear every day
why should I keep filling out ledgers
when I could be plowing those eastern fields