Ars Poetica

Fish are swimming at ease—
         this is the happiness of fish.
                  But the sage kings are dead
         and the guarding of names has become
lax. Strange terms have risen
         and the names and actualities
                  have become confused . . .
         When the pond dries up, all the fish
huddle close together
         and try to keep each other moist
                  with their own spit--