August 26^th, 2018

Evening Bell at Misty Monastery

Deep on the mountain an unseen cloister;
Wicker shadows lock in the long bamboos.
Suddenly there’s a bell
Ringing now and then,
Empty valley filling with white clouds.
Off drawing water, an old monk returns;
Pine-tree dew stains his robe green.
Bell barely murmurs;
The cloister gate has closed.
Mountain birds, all by themselves,
Skirmish over roosting spots.