Classic Poem

Working my way through life's karma,
I've reached the age of ninety:
old, sick, gone to ruin—but still in one piece!
In human life, how many make it to their eighties or nineties?
In one life, I've seen five generations: great
and great-great grandchildren!
Let's just say tomorrow will be like yesterday;
who would claim that an “added year” is the same
as “one year less?”
One after the other, the plum blossoms
fill my eyes with spring;
how can we allow sadness here, around the wine jar?