Back in the old days, while I was growing up,

Dad teaches me how to write poetry.

From the four-line, seven-word stanza,

To the complex eight-line form of the Tang dynasty.

Are the ideas and words symmetrical yet?

Dad and me, after reading novels of the ancient past,

We often discuss with each other about this character and that.

Usually, the heroes of the Three Kingdoms

Images fleeting by of a faraway time

With bustling horses and wagons.

This evening, looking at the water flowing

The silver moon quietly gliding... in the pond

Rustling leaves on willow branches hanging over the water

Remind me of some melancholic, faraway song.

Raising a glass of daisy flower wine

Inviting Dad to empty this glass

In some blue sky with white clouds,

does Dad still write intoxicating verses?