January 18^th, 2024

Suddenly he’s vanished.
Pines shade his old hut,
Dense and green as before;
Rush mat he used when alive
Left empty in the moonlight;
Now he’s gone, who will offer
Incense in the golden burner?
In the Forest of Meditation,
Branches break, trunks topple now and then,
But the Dharma Halls will long mourn
The loss of this pillar and beam.