Mist and water of Five Lakes, this body not gone home

Mist and water of Five Lakes, this body not gone home;
between heaven and earth, my temples turning grey.
White wine, fresh meat, I invite my close neighbors,
host serving guests.

The affairs of this world rise and fall
through a lifetime.
A few lodgings in the green mountains,
a single leaf of a fishing boat:
with these for now I'll elude the windblown dust.
Translation: 
Language: 
Author of original: 
Ni Tsan
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.