I’ve always known that old age would arrive,
and suddenly now I witness its encroach.
This year, luckily, I’ve not weakened much
but gradually it comes to seek me out.
Teeth scattered, hair grown short,
To run or hurry, I haven’t the strength.
So, I cry, what’s to be done!
And yet, why should I suffer?
P’eng-tsu and Lao Tzu no more exist;
Chuang Tzu and K’ung Tzu too are gone.
Of those whom the ancients called “immortal saints”
not one is left today.
I only wish for fine wine
and friends who will often help me pour.
Now that spring is drawing to a close
and peach and plum produce abundant shade
and the sun lights up the azure sky
and far, far, the homeward goose cries,
I step outside, greeting those I love,
and climb to the western woods with the aid of my staff.
Singing out loud is enough to cheer me up;
the ancient hymns have overtones.

translated by Jan W. Walls