A Gentle Wind

A gentle wind fans the calm night; a bright moon shines on the high tower. A voice whispers, but no one answers when I call; a shadow stirs, but no one comes when I beckon. The kitchen-man brings in a dish of bean-leaves; wine is there, but I do not fill my cup. Contentment with poverty is Fortune's best gift; Riches and Honor are the handmaids of Disaster. Though gold and gems by the world are sought and prized, to me they seem no more than weeds or chaff