追山

Chasing the Mountain

So is said the horses die when chasing the mountain;

But the mountain never talks.

When young, I fancied drinking and gallantry and played a sword;

Now, instead I pick up a pen, so strong that my blue coat wets.

While the predecessor trees and the descendant cuts;

The grass alongside the road is never chased.

Looking up on the petals I perform my dance;

Coming down the rain pelts out of the mountain.

So is said the road ahead is full of fierce wind and howling sand;

And only the wine never fears or blames.

Upon multiple bridges, flooding rapids but few boatmen;

Being chased, the mountain knows not to chase.