To Grand Secretary Liu

The Eight Ministries control the valiant troops;
songs and carols fill the road anew.
On the River Fen, third-month rains;
on the Jin River, a hundred-flower spring.
Prisons and jails have been locked up empty;
weapons of war are now covered in dust.
Scholars and monks watch Midnight[2] perform;
visiting guests get drunk on scarlet mats.
The brush and the inkstone move at ease in your hand;
poems and letters sit surrounding you.
Even those of minor talent are well cared for;
they are men who may dine on fish.

Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.