October 25^th, 2023

Forest trees stripped in autumn,
An ancient Buddhist temple,
Where mists from the waters are deepest,
Dark even in daytime.
The magnificent hall weathered,
Red and green pain peeled off;
The pond meant to bring merit gone dry,
Only lotuses left.
On the silver-leafed panel still remaining,
Shumbo’s writing;
The golden countenance untouched by time,
Jocho’s handiwork.
The old Cloister of the Southern Springs
Where is it now?
No one passes this way,
Evening winds are chill.