According to an olden time tradition,

All and every high-ranking official

From time to time should go through

A retirement to the remote mountains

Or the desert to refine one’s morality

And fill in one’s reserve of virtues.

Performing his recluse session

For two or three months, a statesman,

For whatever else was wrong,

Had to refresh his instinct for life

And his extraordinary vitality.

Recovering himself in a proper way,

Adjusted himself to environments

That might have spelled disaster

To a less robust sort of the state figure.

He received his share of nature's bounty,

Clinging for awhile to the thick forests

And bamboo groves and the hills

And dales for his inspiration and spirit

Supported that alone had kept

His soul whole and prevented him

From civil degradation, misrule

And natural calamities occurred only

When human immunity was on wane.

With a common sense

And a good sense of humour

And somewhat coarse nerves,

He weathered them all

And always righted himself

To finally bring his course

To its timely close, one-off,

Also known as “a peaceful retirement.”