English Rendering
In the small yard, east of grapevine moon-rack,
My waist dances wild to drums' heroic beat.
Poems done, colored brushes share the verse—
Amid gold hairpins, I take my seat.
Autumn leaves chant cold in roaring wind,
Evening woods glow through sun's crystal rays.
If I wore Chuzhou's seal at my waist,
Surely they'd call me "Drunken Sage" these days.
