Human existence in this world:
Duckweed cast adrift on the water.
Who can ever feel secure?
That is the reason
I took up a monk’s staff,
Left my parents,
And bade farewell to my friends.

A single patched robe
And one bowl have sustained
Me all these years.
I’m fond of this little hut
And often spend time here;
We are two kindred spirits,
Never worrying about who
Is guest and who is host.

The wind blows through lofty pines,
Frost chills the few mums that remain.
Arm in arm we stand above the clouds;
Bound as one, roaming in the far beyond.