March 28th, 2019
Quiet and secluded,
the temple's brushwood gate closed.
I stay away from the noises of the world.
How I pity the corrupted
manners of the times!
Why should we be sorry to see flowers fade?
Don't be attached to the worldly
ties any longer; so deplorable
is the way that lies before us.
Nobody knows me living
in this remote part of the land.
The setting sun slants
on my pine-framed window.