The poem
I love Master Meng. Free as a flowing breeze, He is famous Throughout the world.
In rosy youth, he cast away Official cap and carriage. Now, a white-haired elder, he reclines Amid pines and cloud.
Drunk beneath the moon, He often attains sagehood. Lost among the flowers, He serves no lord.
How can I aspire to such a high mountain? Here below, to his clear fragrance, I bow.