The water murmurs
In the old stone well,
And, a rippling mirror,
Gives back the clear blue sky.
The river roars,
Swollen with late rains
Of spring.
On the cool, jade-green grass
The golden sunshine splashes.

Sometimes, at early dawn
I climb,
Even as far as Lien Shan Temple.
In the spring I plough
The thirsty field,
That it may drink
New life.

I eat a little,
I work a little,
My hair grows daily
thinner,
And, it seems,
I lean ever a bit more
heavily
On my old thornwood cane.