April 25th, 2023
Sung Chih-Wen (d 712)
At the hall of the Buddha image,
I look over the crimson ravine;
The incense terrace is shrouded in halcyon auroras.
Now roosting, now flying,
I embrace an imaginary bird;
Now treading, now tramping,
It rains flowers from the void.
The precious bells sway in the emergent sunshine;
The golden pool glistens on dusk’s sands.
Do not be distraught at the remoteness of the road back;
Beyond the gates there are three types of carriages.