Classic Poem

The old man, a slight smile on his lips, rides a grey deer
A white monkey leads it by the reins, just like a human servant.
A black monkey plucks a branch of red plum blossoms,
and shoulders two baskets woven with threads of blue silk:
in the baskets are rare mushrooms of five colors.
Another monkey, coarse and unbearably ugly,
straddles the deer behind the man, putting on a wild show.
We feel as if the wind blows from the pines,
filling our ears with the roar of waves.
In the shadows of the tall trees hangs the spring moon.
Beneath the moon, bats flit back and forth,
three by three, two by two: as if they had been summoned
to greet the colors of spring, and visit the empyrean!
The old man is really the Southern Pole Star:
who has transformed him into paint?
I hang this scroll in the Spring Rain Pavilion of my home,
and I am startled to find paradise within my own four walls!
The South Pole Star will glitter beautifully forever in the sky,
and our great Ming dynasty will reign sovereign,
its mandate firm as rock.
May his majesty the August Emperor
live a full ten thousand years!