He couldn’t care less about carriages or staves.
Sitting cross-legged on his veranda,
Pouring out heavenly wine for old friends,
He offers toasts with this immortal cure.
He recites “Luong-Phủ” for people near and far.
Zithers “Tall Mountain” for dwellers of peaks and clouds.
Finding great peace again and again
He claps out rhythms, shouts out joy.