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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535653" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Po Chu-i, Ancient Governor - 772-846 CE, From Far Away Thinks On His Angry Wife</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Of Po Chu-i: 'As one of his poems explains, <br>he suffered from paralysis at the end of his <br>life, one leg becoming useless.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>'A well-fed contentment...<br>is there no greater achievement in life? '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Her heavy face displaces among<br>clouds, is swollen with hard tears, <br>her sorrowful gaze calls for the<br>always hungry child that was lost<br>when they were poor, without work<br>and down on luck. The frozen ground<br>reluctantly yields these many years<br>to slowly make his little grave, <br>too long unmarked.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">It now wears a monument tall, of finest jade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Too late for you, Little Stinger, '<br>he carves it himself, again and again, <br>years now, upon the stone, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A well-fed contentment...'<br>and all the rest, but in his<br>mind it is never done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Old Po Chu-i, ' he thinks to himself, <br>writing another verse in his head, <br>his own epitaph upon the other side<br>of the jade-stone, 'now rides a wild<br>horse to the end of all roads.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Weary with the business of state.<br>Of commerce he can now care less <br>though he once was poor and<br>one dear son has died as a result, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Pffftt! Old wife will never let me forget.'<br> <br>'Of pleasing the inconsolable, '<br>he writes such in his head, <br>upon horseback, in the mane<br>and the tail poems wait to be<br>untangled, brushed smooth<br>with the ink and quill of miles<br>until there is some rest, <br>a cozy inn rare, more a tent<br>pitched which gives much simple<br>peace compared to the mansion<br>back home in the wealthy province, <br>the ponds full, the barns full, <br>the servants many and busy, <br>all the fruit of miles traveled<br>to keep the fragile peace which<br>needs constant mending, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'much like a wife.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'It is as it is, and should be, '<br>he thinks, 'it is of love these<br>conditions come, bringing many<br>mouths and fuller hearts to break, <br>for love like life seeks to be<br>undone again and again.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Such is the life the Allotter<br>gives. Why complain when one<br>has the gift of a patient horse, <br>steady, an obedient, good companion? '</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Why lament when eyes are still<br>able to rejoice at beauty of all<br>kinds, for even of human woes<br>which break the heart much music<br>can be made, and without false pity.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'And without false pity, ' he sings, <br>'a coin can be given and heaven<br>restored until the next pang of<br>hunger, from this real friendship<br>with strangers is born, the best, <br>of gentleness without debt, <br>untangling from mane to mind.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Untangling from mane to mind, <br>one finds, takes, such real<br>pleasures as they come and, <br>thanking the glad day, banks<br>them in the vaulted heart.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not given to self-pity, only<br>fond of nostalgic reminiscence, <br>he loves fabrics smooth, soft, <br>purchased in Yangshao, where <br>he loves the Spring's First <br>Blossom Girl with whom he grew <br>up, courting her near the auspicious <br>old well of Silk Moths Aplenty.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He thinks of these and many things<br>upon his horse during the long journey<br>through the difficult passages, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Through the difficult passages<br>one cannot avoid accumulating <br>much dust, ' he composes out <br>loud for the horse to hear, <br>'perhaps our only wealth, <br>dear friend, of friendless miles.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He rests awhile in the wide<br>orchard where bright plum flowers<br>rain, decides to unroll his pallet<br>to sleep beside the humming glade.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Raiment, ' he writes in his sleepy head, <br>'of bees and leaves. An old man puts the <br>best plum in his sleeve to bring home<br>to his wife.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Why strive when nature is bounteous<br>and all ills can be made right with<br>wet sweetness? '</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Warren+Falcon">Warren Falcon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535653" data-title="Po Chu-i, Ancient Governor - 772-846 CE, From Far Away Thinks On His Angry Wife de Warren Falcon" data-description="Of Po Chu-i: 'As one of his poems explains, 
he suffered from paralysis at the end of his 
life, one leg becoming useless.'


'A well-fed contentment...
is there no greater achievement in life? '

Her heavy face displaces among
clouds, is swollen ..."></div>
</div>
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