Drinking with the moon

The night is clear, the air clean, the moonlight bright as polished silver. Fame and fortune are vain and tiresome, so when pouring wine, fill it to the brim. Life’s a wild horse bolting through a gate, the sparks of a flint in the darkness. I am a poet, but who will be close to me? who will listen when I open my mouth? When will I be able to retire, to enjoy the innocence of the moment with a jug of wine, a zither, and clouds clearing from the ridge.