Sent to the Painter, Lu Hsiao-feng
Your art has brought you great respect;
your skill has been applied to portraiture.
Now you close the door and decline visitors,
a man of leisure in the noisy city.
Along the roads, the sound of weeping:
the villagers are poor to the bone.
May I trouble you to take your magic brush
and paint me a picture of refugees?
your skill has been applied to portraiture.
Now you close the door and decline visitors,
a man of leisure in the noisy city.
Along the roads, the sound of weeping:
the villagers are poor to the bone.
May I trouble you to take your magic brush
and paint me a picture of refugees?
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