Still a wanderer farming at the Southern Capital,
Spirit-wounded, I can't stop gazing north out windows.
But today, I take my wife out in the skiff. Drifting,
We watch our kids bathe in the bright, clear river.
Butterflies tumble through air, one chasing another.
Sharing stems, lotus blossoms float in natural pairs.
Tea, sugar-cane juice-- we bring along what simple
Things we have, our clay jars no less now than jade.