Thoughts at an Inn, Sent to My Colleagues
- Poetry of Cui Dong

Through bitter years my books I’ve kept,

Awaiting summons—poverty unwept.

At dusk, through snow my horse still strains,

At supper, yet another host sustains.

When sorrow comes, I read auspicious signs,

As age descends, I prize dawn’s golden lines.

Gazing afar toward Pingjin’s grand gate,

I know at home, spring warms my garden’s state.