Classic Poem

A fragrant breeze blows across the water,
stirring up the cattails grown tall.
My mat is wavy as the Hsiang River;
smoke rises like mist from a Po-shan censer.
I've been drinking less since summer's start,
since spring's end, haven't sought pleasure.
Awaking from a nap, I see the pond is quiet.
I call a child and say, “Let those baby ducks go.”