from Substance, Shadow, and Space by T’ao Yüan-ming

Old and young alike die a single death,
wise and foolish are not allotted different fates.
Your daily wine may help  you to forget,
but I fear it’s a pasttime that shortens your years.
Doing good, you say, will be your joy?
And who do you think will praise you?
Too much pondering may injure one’s life;
better leave everything to fate.
Go along with the waves in the great process of change,
take no delight in it, have no fear.
When it’s time to fade away, then fade away—
why should you alone be so full of care?

translated by Burton Watson

for some reason a poem I identify with: A Hundred Days, Free to Go by Su Tung-p’o

A hundred days, free to go, and it’s almost spring;
for the years left, pleasure will be my chief concern.
Out the gate, I do a dance, wind blows my face;
our galloping horses race along as magpies cheer.
I face the wine cup and it’s all a dream,
pick up a poem brush, already inspired.
Why try to fix the blame for past trouble?
Years now I’ve stolen posts I never should have had.

translated by Burton Watson

***Written on his release from prison after 130 days and before leaving for a remote post which was essentially like exile again.