A gentle East wind is blowing.
I travel through the mountains.
White clouds rest on the peaks like
Caps of silk floss. Over
The tree tops the sun gleams like
A polished cymbal. Peach trees
Bloom beyond bamboo fences.
Along the streams, willows wave
Above the pools. The mountaineers
Of the West know how to be
Happy, full of melon soup
And fried bamboo shoots after
The spring sowing.
SU TUNG P’O