August 05th, 2020

Hard rain, our gathered firewood scant;
Lamp frozen, glimmers not at night.
In the cave, wind blows stones and mud.
Moss engravings weatherstrip rickety door.

Brooks in torrent untiring;
People’s words more and more rare.
What schemes calm the heart?
Sitting in the lotus,
Wrapped in robes of Zen.

Hsu Yun