The west wind ruffles my thin gauze clothing. On the hill sits a tall building with a room of wooden planks. I wish I could travel on a cloud far away, reunite with my wife and son. When the moonlight shines on me alone, the nights seem even longer. At the head of the bed there is wine and my heart is constantly drunk. There is no flower beneath my pillow and my dreams are not sweet. To whom can I confide my innermost feeling? I rely solely on close friends to relieve my loneliness. For days I have been without freedom on Island. In reduced circumstances now, I mingle with the prisoners. Grievances fill my belly; I reply on poetry to express them. A pile of clods bloat my chest and I wash it with wine. Because my country is weak I have become aware of the laws of growth and decay. In pursuit of wealth I have come to understand the principles of expansion and diminution. When I am idle, I have this wild dream that I have gained the western barbarian's consent to enter America.

I came to the United States because I was poor. How was I to know fate would be so perverse as to imprison me. News and letters do not reach me and I can only fantasize. I hear no news so who sympathizes with me?