Classic Poem

Tired of walking in the red dust
you moved to this quiet river village.
To breed fish, you have built a broad pond;
in love with bamboo, you have transplanted some
in front of the gate.
Moonlight touches the covers of your books;
mountain colors enter your wine cup.
As for me, I'm ashamed of being caught up in official duties;
I still haven't found my fields and gardens.