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Poem	Old age think good quiet Everything not concern heart Self attend without great plan Empty know return old forest Pine wind blow undo belt Hill moon light pluck qin Gentleman ask end open reason Fisherman song enter riverbank deep Now in old age, I know the value of silence, The world's affairs no longer stir my heart. Turning to myself, I have no greater plan, All I can do is return to the forest of old. Wind from the pine trees blows my sash undone, The moon shines through the hills; I pluck the qin. You ask me why the world must rise and fall, Fishermen sing on the steep banks of the river.
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