Fall do leaves in Huainan, geese’s specks high above,
scant sun ‘pon a city lone, rampant with weeds clumped.
Far-off memories elicited by flute’s prompt,
on the streets, children laugh, wielding play swords in fight.
World affairs have truly turned to seeking recluse,
so where can we proceed to despair at partings?
A meal given long ago is still on the mind,
Twenty years of respect felt deep into gray hairs.
Climb high, long sorrowfully for the Eight Lords’ Peak,
its jadeite trees and red cliffs unscaleable full.
No longer seeking yin’s seal, meet a golden stone,
willing young looks to stay using alchemic treasures.
Floating through life, death is the only missing piece,
mortals never to fulfill immortality.
I once was the Prince of Huainan’s lapdog proper,
never to ascend, never to leave this plain realm.