Classic Poem

It's early when we set out on the Ch'en-ts'ang Road,
Our horses' hooves churning up the clouds and mist.
On and on, we finally reach the Ch'ai-kuan where
Clouds hang low and rain pours down,
The center of the crazy road potholed and jagged,
And all around a cloak of bamboo forest, thick and dark.
A great rock stands right in the middle of the pass,
Shaped like a fierce tiger crouching.
There is no Flying General now in the world,
So why do you gnash your teeth in anger?
Dragons scaled and unscaled frolic right next to us,
Startling us out of our wits, making us gasp for breath.
From time to time, strange birds give a cry—
We hear them but don't know where they are.
The Black River in the distance sweeps down,
A myriad torrents rushing along all at once.
I've often heard that Purple Cypress Mountain
Is a place where immortals wander and dwell.
If we once chanced upon some Essence of Stone,
In broad daylight we could sprout feathers.
Who caused me, when I had the form of a wild crane,
Scattering my feathers, to fall into the trap?
As the True Creator cannot be asked questions,
Let me start out again toward the vast, vague distances.