Somehow I managed to sleep through more than half of the last twenty-four hours. Sleeping too much is almost becoming a habit.
The Scholar in the Narrow Street
by Tso Ssu
Flap, flap, the captive bird in the cage
Beating its wings against the four corners.
Depressed, depressed, the scholar in the narrow street:
Clasping a shadow, he dwells in an empty house.
When he goes out, there is nowhere for him to go:
Bunches and brambles block up his path.
He composes a memorial, but it is rejected and unread,
He is left stranded, like a fish in a dry pond.
Without-- he has not a single farthing of salary:
Within-- there is not a peck of grain in his larder.
His relations upbraid him for his lack of success:
His friends and callers daily decrease in number.
Su Ch'in used to go preaching in the North
And Li Ssu sent a memorandum to the West.
I once hoped to pluck the fruits of life:
But now, alas, they are all withered and dry.
Though one drinks at a river, one cannot drink more than a bellyful:
Enough is good, but there is no use in satiety.
The bird in the forest can perch but on one bough,
And this should be the wise man's pattern.