The lonely Master of Eastern Slope lies ill in bed, Dishevelled white hair flows in the wind like frost spread.
Xu Yuanchong
Seeing my crimson face, my son is glad I'm fine, laugh for he does not know that I have drunk wine:
0I One poem out of three is chosen for this collection:
白須蕭散滿霜風。
Xu Yuanchong
Bamboo spikes and rattan creepers tangle before me.
小兒誤喜朱顏在，
Xu Yuanchong
I can but follow the way where cow turds are spread,
一笑那知是酒紅！
Xu Yuanchong
And find their houses farther west of cattle shed.