January 18th, 2021

Sent to Monk T'sung-shan
For several years now
I have not seen you;
You must be shut in behind your gate.
Incense fragrance at the ancient temple,
Autumn colors above the fivefold peaks.
In games of chess,
Which of the monks can match you?
Done playing your lute,
Cranes will share your peace.
When again will you come to visit,
To chant poems,
And talk, here in the woods with me?

Weng Chuan (d 1214)