For two or three years the snow and wind have weighed me down, I laugh at the wind so light and snow like cotton. In the past year seeking the art of turning back the heavens, Eating bitter coptis yet sweet it seemed. If tomorrow I find a way to free myself, Drinking alone I'll buy wine as an immortal in the mirror. At twenty my heart held ambitions of swans and wild geese, When the time comes to reach the clouds my face will be all smiles.