The path to the meditation hall
Is steep and perilous;
I look back to view
The upper watershed.
A woodcutter’s trail links
All the peaks;
A boulder-choked creek
Flows through bamboo.
In deep woods,
The snow still lingers;
In foothills,
Gibbons have not yet cried.
Desiring to part from
The bitterness in the world,
I seek some words
From the Master.