For thirty years an itinerant official
I no longer recognized the fields
but since it was my day to bathe
I traveled back to our village
the rains had stopped and the mountains were clear
the wind was warm and plants were thriving
the mountain-fed streams were deep and pure
the forests beginning to dance with light
but the bamboo was looking a bit sad
and the garden was nothing but weeds
and I was startled by the gray at your temples
and the sight of where we once played
and the heartbreaking news of departures
and the changes that had ravaged this place
I wanted to speak but who would care
and now I'm worrying about reports again
I'd be better off giving up this worldly career
fortune and fame are so hollow
compared to finally being with you
here in my declining and future years