To Magistrate Zhang
Late, I love but quietness:
Things of this world are no more my concern
Looking back, I've known no better plan
Than this: returning to the grove
Pine breezes: loosen my robe
Mountain moon beams: play my lute.
What, you ask, is Final Truth?
The fisherman's song, strikes deep into the bank.
Things of this world are no more my concern
Looking back, I've known no better plan
Than this: returning to the grove
Pine breezes: loosen my robe
Mountain moon beams: play my lute.
What, you ask, is Final Truth?
The fisherman's song, strikes deep into the bank.
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