The Moo Mun

Where through the gate in to the tombs we go,
Thick jujube trees, the axe requiring, grow.
Like them that man, who ill befits his place,
And through the State is reckoned a disgrace !
All know him bad, but to his course he’ll hold,
So long to evil has the man been sold.

Where through the gate in to the tombs we turn,
Owls perched upon the plum-trees we discern.
Such omen well may to that man belong,
Whom to admonish I now sing this song.
No welcome will the admonition find ;
When overthrown, my words he’ll call to mind.