The Thing Called a Bed

The poet is drunk, using a light boat on the river as his bed, resting his head beneath a river full of moonlight and listening to the burbling water. The swordsman is drunk, leaning against the Qionghua Tower, bathed in starlight and moonlight, with a blue-maned steed tied to a willow by the roadside. The wandering beggar sleeps beneath the sky, with the earth for a home and half a brick for a pillow. The immortal maiden beyond the mortal world dwells deep among lotus blossoms, breathing in the fragrance of flowers and the misty scent of water as she drifts into dreams.

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