Poems of Mi Fu
Partridge Day (2)
(A surfeit of years)
White liquor, silent and silver.
A little red in the face, when all his urges were new.
Don't despise his many cups, his urges overwhelm him.
And only this single impulse remains as years decline.
Drones are swarming.
Pretty girls are frowning.
In his presence, the cries of birds urge us to leave.
A life without substance has only self-indulgence.
When have riches and honor ever made us strong?
Here is another dangerous Happy Birthday poem. It isn't for Minister Ji this time. Ji's birthday was in the fall and this one is in the spring. I am, of course, showing the subtext. The first line, on the surface, is "Liquid clouds are silent and white as silver." There is an acceptable surface to the poem. But the subtext is as obvious as a corpse in a wading pool.