Classic Poem

The Three Obedience's I've had none of all my life;
as my face declines, my mind grows more free.
To try out a painting brush, I rip a light-silk sash;
to buy myself a gourd, I take a silver pin out of my hair.
Write verse on plantain, and the sheet tears in the rain;
smear one in the air, and a geese formation appears.
I only fear that lazy, careless women at large
might try to follow the wind and moon after me.