June 16^th, 2017

Lake water enters the bamboo fence,
Mountains surround the cottage.
A recluse’s life avoids this world.
The unused door hides behind
A green moss hue;
When a stranger passes,
The white birds fly in alarm.
Selling herbs, I taste and comp
But charge no price.
I do some gardening,
But love to do it unplanned.
Why is the wooded path leading
To T’ien-chu monastery
Still in autumn
Deeply dreaming in blue?