Classic Poem

Master Zhang has an inborn craving for wine,
Free and easy, no care for the world's business.
Snow-white hair, total master of cursive and script,
Named by the age " Genius of Great Lake "
Bare-headed he rests on his folding chair,
Gives forth three or four long bellows,
And as his mood comes, daubs ink on the white walls,
Waving his brush like a shooting star
Round his low cottage the winds moan,
Winter grasses fill his yard.
Do you wonder about his possessions?
To him things of this life are floating weeds.
In his left hand he nibbles a crab claw,
In his right holds alchemical tracts,
And he stares wide-eyed at the river of stars,
Then none can tell if he's drunk or sober
His guests all come, take their proper seats
As the dawn sun looks down on eastern walls:
He serves Yangtze fish wrapped in lotus leaves,
In white bowls heaps the sweet-scented rice.
Petty salary is beneath his concern,
His spirit roams free to the world's confines.
For those of the age who don't recognize him —
This is the immortal — Master Anqi.