The thick bamboo grove near my hut
Keeps me nice and cool.
Shoots proliferate, blocking the path,
While old branches reach for the sky.

Years of frost give bamboo spirit;
They are most mysterious
When wrapped in mist.
Bamboo is hardy as pine and oak,
And more subtle than peach or
Plum blossoms.

It grows straight and tall,
Empty inside but with a sturdy root.
I love the purity and honesty of my bamboo,
And want them to thrive here always!