After the Tang Comes the Ming

Gazing toward the Central Plains, beyond the desolate smoke, countless cities and strongholds stretch into the distance.

I remember those days, when flowers screened the paths and willows sheltered them, while phoenix towers and dragon pavilions rose in splendor.

Before Dragonhead Mountain, pearls and jade shimmered everywhere; within the Hall of Light, music and song filled the air.

But now, iron cavalry covers the outskirts of the capital, and the land is choked with dust.

Where are the soldiers? They sharpen their blades. Where are the people? They fill the ravines.

I lament that the mountains and rivers remain as they were, while a thousand villages lie desolate.

When will I receive permission to raise a sharp army, and with a single whip drive straight across the lands north of the Yellow River?

Then return and continue my youthful travels, riding upon a crane.

Carrying on the heroic spirit of the Han and Tang, ushering in the flourishing age of Hongming.