May 21^st, 2025

The rich worry about getting poor
For me poverty would be a good year
I followed fate into these myriad peaks
You don’t need a penny here
Thatched eaves beside a racing brook
Cragflowers draping the bamboo fence
In winter, I turn my back to the sun
Come summer, park myself at water’s edge.

Shih-shu (17th c-early 18th)