The rivers, they all flow to the east.
The mountains, they all face to the south.
Lotus flowers are oblivious of the mud,
a tiger bats a plum blossom tumble of twenty years.
Lines in the hall, of robes coated with dust,
and robes without. There’s no one to tell the difference.
For the twentieth year plum blossoms fall,
come to rest on a tigers whiskers.
First image found here: https://www.orientaloutpost.com/proddetail.php?prod=dis-np10&cat=12&nl=y
Second image found here: http://www.yale.edu/calligraphy/aboutus.html