Classic Poem

The Old Man of Nine Dragon Mountain,
full of inspiration,
grasped in hand a twisting, writhing staff
of green bamboo.
Wine-drunk, angrily he tossed it
into a river's flow
and it transformed into a dragon
hundreds of feet long!
This dragon leapt up, a second dragon followed,
and suddenly, a whole flock of dragons
hurtled through the waves!
They dived through sand, drilled through rock,
they touched the foggy clouds;
their horns rose, awesome, from their brows
as they turned to face each other.
Among these creatures, the smallest of all
were known as " young shoot dragons " ;
their fins and scales they molted then
and gained full power and force.
People say that this old man was good at playing games:
the powers of creation he held in the palm of his hand.
Sir, do you not wonder:
Where has he gone off to,
this Old Man of Nine Dragon Mountain?
— To Nine Dragon Mountain, so full of windswept rain!
On a white wall in deserted hall he has left
the shadow of his staff, so cold:
at midnight, when no one is around, it speaks
the language of dragons!