No One Greeting Zhuangzi

A hermit isn’t wisdom,
Won’t remotely resemble
A goddess or a great sage,

Will look the part of a fool
Mostly because he is one,
Just an old man with a beard

And no money to speak of,
And no work worth mentioning,
Sitting on a wicker chair

In the early spring sunshine
Of someone else’s kingdom,
Wondering what’s to be done.