Email Poem

Your IP Address: 104.23.243.100

From Email:	Required Email Address Not Valid.
To Email:	Email Address Not Valid. Required
Subject	Required
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem	Kong ming temple before be old cypress Branch like green bronze root like stone Frost bark slippery rain 40 spans Black colour meet sky 2000 feet Emperor and minister already with time end meet Tree tree still be man devotion Cloud come air meet Wu gorge long Moon out cold with snow mountain white Remember old road wind brocade pavilion east Former master war lord together hidden temple Towering branch trunk open country ancient Secluded red black door window empty Spread wide coil entrenched although get earth Dark far lofty many violent wind Give support naturally divine strength Upright reason creator skill Big hall if upset want rafter beam 10,000 oxen turn head mountain weight Not reveal hidden meaning world already amazed Without evade cut down who can send Bitter heart how avoid contain mole crickets ants Fragrant leaves all through reside phoenix Aim scholar secluded person not resent sigh Always timber big hard to use Before Kongming's shrine stands an ancient cypress, Its branches are like green bronze, its roots just like stone. The frosted bark, slippery with rain, is forty spans around, Its blackness blends into the sky two thousand feet above. Master and servant have each already reached their time's end, The tree, however, still remains, receiving men's devotion. Clouds come and bring the air of Wuxia gorge's vastness, The moon comes out, along with the cold of snowy mountain whiteness. I think back to the winding road, east of Brocade Pavilion, Where the military master and his lord of old share a hidden temple. Towering that trunk, those branches, on the ancient plain, Hidden paintings, red and black, doors and windows empty. Spreading wide, coiling down, though it holds the earth, In the dim and distant heights are many violent winds. That which gives it its support must be heaven's strength, The reason for its uprightness, the creator's skill. If a great hall should teeter, wanting rafters and beams, Ten thousand oxen would turn their heads towards its mountain's weight. Its potential unrevealed, the world's already amazed, Nothing would stop it being felled, but what man could handle it? Its bitter heart cannot avoid the entry of the ants, Its fragrant leaves have always given shelter to the phoenix. Ambitious scholars, reclusive hermits- neither needs to sigh; Always it's the greatest timber that's hardest to put to use.
	Type the characters you see in the picture Required