Wise men, you have cast me aside.
Fools, I do the same to you.
I would be neither wise man nor fool;
From now on, let us hear no more from each other.
When night comes I sing to the bright moon;
At dawn, I dance with white clouds.
How could I still my voice and my hands
And sit stiff as a stick with my grey hair rumpled?  

--Han-shan (trans. Burton Watson)

[from Cold Mountain: 100 Poems by the T'ang poet, Han-shan]