Poems of Meng Jiao
This morning I saw a single sheet of cloud.
By evening, rain for leagues around.
Cool and pure, dripping from high branches.
Everywhere overflowing, soaking the desolate dust.
I'll just sit here and let you enjoy this one. Although, since you're here, I'll point out that this poem simply is what it is, without any second facet or literary allusion. Perhaps his long practice of Chan Buddhism is displacing his cultural ideology, making his poetry pure.