Yang Shèn, oh Yang Shèn—you shouldn’t have written that poem
You should let me write it instead, after all it suits my current mood better
The mighty Yangtze flows eastward, never-ending—white waves sweep away heroes. Right and wrong, success and failure—turn to nothing in an instant. Green mountains still stand as ever; how many times has the sunset turned red? White-haired fishermen and woodcutters by river islets—used to watching the autumn moon and spring breeze. A pot of cloudy wine delights in meeting you. Of all the affairs through ages past and present, so much is handed over to laughter and idle talk 🤔
You should let me write it instead, after all it suits my current mood better
The mighty Yangtze flows eastward, never-ending—white waves sweep away heroes. Right and wrong, success and failure—turn to nothing in an instant. Green mountains still stand as ever; how many times has the sunset turned red? White-haired fishermen and woodcutters by river islets—used to watching the autumn moon and spring breeze. A pot of cloudy wine delights in meeting you. Of all the affairs through ages past and present, so much is handed over to laughter and idle talk 🤔
