A Visit to a Village West of the Mountain
By LU You
Tr. ZHAO Yanchun
Do not laugh that the farmer’s wine is crude;
I’m kept for fowl and pork, now harvest’s good.
Hill on hill, rill by rill, no way I doubt;
From flower-lit willows one more vill comes out.
With flutes and drums, Spring Festival is near;
Simple caps and clothes, the old style’s kept here.
From now on if I’m free neath the moon bright,
With my stick I’ll knock any time at night.