English Rendering
I am proud of my son,
He is second to none.
Come down one year from Heaven,
He could tell six from seven.
Knowing his name at four,
No pears would he adore.
My friends would come and say
He is no common clay.
His appearance admired
Leaves nothing to be desired.
An immortal would fain
Say he's swallow or crane.
What my friends say, all told,
Would comfort a man old.
In vernal night or day
With his cousins he'd play.
They pass from hall to hall,
Boisterous one and all.
When guests come to see me,
He would come out with glee.
When asked what he need,
He'd veil the truth, indeed.
He mimics one guest's face
In haste and without grace,
Another bearded guest
Stammering without rest.
Like an eagle in flight
Or a strong steed in fight,
He rides a hobby horse
Running with all its force.
He jeers at officers
Blaming their messengers.
By lamplight he makes vows
And to Buddha he bows.
He sweeps webs with his whip,
And honey he would sip.
As light as butterflies,
With willow down he vies.
Meeting his sister dear,
He plays games without fear.
He takes her toilet box
And breaks the golden locks.
Lying on ground, he'd stay;
Threatened, he'd not obey.
He draws the window screen,
Spits and wipes the lute clean.
Sometimes watching me write,
He stands unmoved upright.
Of brocade he makes cover;
Of books he seems a lover.
Asking me to write "spring",
Of spring day he would sing.
Banana's paper white,
Its bud a brush to write.
Then I was fond of books,
Studying long in my nooks,
At forty lean and wise,
I fear nor bug nor lice.
Do not learn to win fame
Like me without a name
Try to learn from the sages
Of the different ages!
You'd be master of kings,
Carefree from trifling things.
The foe in the northwest
Are producing unrest.
Nor war nor peace can cure;
They're hard disease, for sure.
Grow up, be man of men.
Kill the foe in the den!
Son, be a hero brave
And not a scholar grave.
