Leaning alone in the closed bamboos
Time does not stop, but almost
The lute I once played is broken
But the bright moon contends with me
Full moon and winter plum tree
Talking and laughing together
I know within my heart
Where my path leads, to the source
Of the steam, past the South Mountain


I am immersed in the Tao
Yet nothing seems to matter anymore
We forget to go home at these times
I think of you, waiting to die
Even the sun shines cold and white
All your old friends have bought you gifts
But I could not think of anything
For wildflowers will soon flourish


In the shade of the East Willows
I will make a solitary mountain temple
And rest there at the place where
The sun-ribbon river starts
There I will make pearled dew, bent bow moon
Discarding the Book of Change
There, I will let go of all history.

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