You’re oft hungry because you stand aloof and high;

To complain loudly and in vain you’ve long made a try.

Your sound weakens and dies away when dawn draws near,

But the green tree remains unmoved by your cries drear.

A small official, I’ve led a life vagabond,

Leaving my fields at home all waste and abandoned.

Thank you for the repeated warnings you give me;

Like you, honest and upright all my folks will be.

Li Shangyin