Thinking back, I recall my days at Entsu-ji
And the solitary struggle to find the Way.
Carrying firewood reminded me of Layman Ho;
When I polished rice, the sixth Patriarch
Came to mind.
I was always first in line to receive
Master’s teaching, and never
Missed an hour of meditation.

Thirty years have flown by since
I left the green hills and blue sea
Of that lovely place.
What has become of all my
Fellow disciples?
And how can I forget the kindness
Of my beloved teacher?
The tears flow on and on,
Blending with the swirling mountain stream.