Classic Poem

Don't go into the realm of red dust—
it wears out a person's spirit and strength.
You war with each other like the two horns of a snail,
end up with one ox-hair worth of gain.
Put out the fire that burns in your rage,
stop whetting the knife that hides in a smile.
Better come drink wine with me,
we'll lie down peacefully, merrily, merrily drunk.