Composed At Random
Human life is an endless struggle
The post-horse and plow-ox.
On the brows of the Daoist sadness never grows:
Quietly holding a book of immortality, seated by the window,
What else is there to seek?
Prospects disappear, far, far away,
Months and years are hard to detain.
In a hundred years' time everyone will be a pat of mud,
So arrange a firm and safe place in your own mind
And let the boat float with the stream.