April 23^rd, 2020

The faint path
Through green grass ends.
A door in white clouds opens.
Zither strings leave off
Where music of pines begins.
As I watch, the river-moon rises.
During the night birds alter the flower bed;
The woodcutter’s son goes early
To water it.
Brushing off the green moss
Of river rocks, we sit
Together in the morning dew.