May 06^th, 2024

Returning home from a day of begging
Sage has covered my door.
Now, a bunch of leaves
Burns with the brushwood.
Silently, I read the poems of Han-shan,
Accompanied by the
Autumn wind rustling
Through the reeds.
I stretch out both feet and lie down.
What is there to fret over?
What is there to doubt?