I comb my hair only once every ten days,
A heap of dirt flying from each brush;
Not one drink until after a month’s time,
Each meal coarse as usual but fine.
All matters must be timely,
Except for unawareness of the approaching spring.
Who is willing to touch on the depressed?
Only contending to be near the prosperous.
Living on erect trees are joyful birds,
Yet serene rivers are no home to restless fish.
Hiking in the wild with a bamboo stick,
Feeding on wild vegetables and herbs afresh;
Silent humming of returning home,
The scenery realistic only to an outsider.