A pot of wine, under blossoms.
   I drink alone, no friends in sight.
 I raise a cup to lustrous Moon:
   Me, Moon, and Shadow will make three.
 But Moon is a teetotaler.
   And Shadow just skulks at my feet.
 Still, Moon & Shadow are my chums.
   We need a bash before Spring's end.
 But my singing makes Moon recoil.
   And Shadow flops hard when I dance.
 At first, we have a grand old time,
   But we part ways when I drift off.
 We should keep this epic friendship rolling,
   and meet again in the River of Stars.

NOTE: I produced this “translation” / arrangement, using translations by Arthur Waley, Ezra Pound, and that of “The Anchor Book of Chinese Poetry” [ed. by Tony Barnstone and Chou Ping] to get varied takes on the source poem.