Classic Poem

Vainglory in Snailhorn,
Petty profit on Flyshead:
It all adds up to effort wasted.
If everything is determined in advance,
Then who is weak, who is strong?
With what time I have left before I am old,
Let me be irresponsible for a little bit.
In my hundred years,
I'd still like to be drunk
Thirty-six thousand times.

Reckon it up —
How much can you have,
With worry and grief, wind and rain
Taking away a good half?
But why
Go on till you die, talking about the short end and the big deal?
Here we have a fresh breeze and a bright moon,
The moss-mat spread,
The cloud-curtain drawn —
It's good here in the south:
A thousand measures of fine wine
And " Fragrance Fills the Courtyard " for a song.