April 04^th, 2017

I like my home being well-hidden
A dwelling place cut off
From the world’s noise and dust
Trampling the grass has made three paths
Looking up at the clouds
Makes neighbor in the four directions
There are birds to help with
The sound of singing
But there isn’t anyone to ask about
The words of the Dharma today
Among these withered trees
How many years make one spring?