
Old road overgrown with thorn,
Winding through the ruin's scorn.
Amethyst blooms cloak the shore,
Marsh gleams colder than before.
Harvest done, the woodcutters pass,
Sunset stains their loads with brass.
Wind-combed willows stand threadbare,
Frost-jeweled pears perfume the air.
Wanderers pause at crossroads' sign,
Birds rush to roost in frantic line.
The old farmer grins his creed:
"Mind dark paths—and take my heed:
This year's luck gave modest cheer,
Never scorn coarse porridge here."
The concluding piece of Liu Zongyuan's agrarian triptych diverges from the first poem's labor chronicle and the second's tax protest, offering instead a quiet vignette of autumn's end. Composed during the poet's southern exile (post-805 AD) or Liuzhou governorship (post-815), it captures an accidental encounter with a peasant elder whose contentment in modest harvests reveals the resilient dignity of those who "plow the field of fate" (耕命之田). Where earlier verses exposed systemic cruelty, this poem finds solace in the texture of rural life—its muted colors and unassuming wisdom.
古道饶蒺藜,萦回古城曲。
蓼花被堤岸,陂水寒更绿。
是时收获竟,落日多樵牧。
风高榆柳疏,霜重梨枣熟。
行人迷去住,野鸟竞栖宿。
田翁笑相念,昏黑慎原陆。
今年幸少丰,无厌饘与粥。
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