Travelling throughout Jiangnan, yet only
the lush mountain kept me from going my way.
Amongst relatives and friends,
the funeral march played in their prime,
Many a goodbye I said.
Times changed before I ended a game of chess,
Rivers bloodstained at the end of every battle.
I can only lament the past,
when Yueyang Pavillion was full of songs and dance;
the end of all that bustling prosperity.
Days are short in winter, clouds gather in despair.
Old fortresses stand desolate,
what remains of the moon hangs solitarily in the sky.
Listen to that joyful banter amongst the commoners,
discussing who are the heroes of the day.
Rain fell as I woke from
my light sleep to change my posture,
Snow came as my boat floated across the Yangtze River.
For life’s pleasure, head to Yangzhou in March, I say.