The Yangtze flows to the east, flushing away
The legends of all dynasties. Some say
That west of the old fort is the famous Red Cliff.
Rocks poke sky, billows charge on shore, as if
Thousand heaps of snow wrathfully rolling.
For its beauty how many heroes been fighting？
He was knightly then, Zhou the General, newly wed
With Xiaoqiao, a nymph, waiting in lotus bed.
Now a fan in hand waving, he chatted in full smile,
While the enemy fleet were lured into fire.
The Three Kingoms footed an ancient tripod,
In which burned the incense for the warring god.
Dreaming too much dyed my temple hair grey,
A jar of wine to the moon in water is my pray.
