Written on the Wang River Scroll

No urge now to write poems.
 Old age is my companion.
 In error they made me a poet in a past life.
 Some lost existence had me as a painter.
 Unable to get rid of ingrained habits,
 The world has come to know me by them.
 My name, my style, they may grasp, it’s true.
 But my mind and heart they’ll never know.