Crows Going Back to Their Nest—Satire on the King of Wu
O’er Royal Terrace when crows flew back to their nest,
The king in Royal Palace feast’d his mistress drunk.
The Southern maidens sang and danced without a rest
Till beak-like mountain-peaks would peck the sun half sunk.
The golden clepsydra could not stop water’s flow,
O’er river waves the autumn moon was hanging low.
But wouldn’t the king enjoy his fill in Eastern glow?