Little Chong Mountain

Little Chongshan

Last night the cold crickets sang without cease,

startling me awake from a dream spanning a thousand miles.

It was already the third watch. I rose

and walked alone around the steps.

All was quiet. Outside the window,

the moon shone dimly through the haze.

I have grown gray in the pursuit of fame.

The pines and bamboo on my old mountain have aged,

blocking my way home. I would entrust my thoughts

to the jade zither, but there are few who understand.

If the strings should snap, who would hear?

Theme: An ensemble cast