The first bowl moistens my lips and throat.
The second bowl banishes my loneliness and melancholy.
The third explores the dry rivulets of my soul,
Searching for legends of five thousand scrolls.
With the fourth the pain of past injustice vanishes through my pores.
The fifth bowl purifies my flesh and bones.
The sixth bowl makes me one with the immortal, feathered spirits.
The seventh conveys such pleasure I am overcome,
Feeling only a pure wind rushing beneath my wings.