Wednesday, September 30, 2015

My hut lies in the middle of a dense forest;
Every year the green ivy grows longer.
No news of the affairs of men,
Only the occasional song of a woodcutter.
The sun shines and I mend my robe,
When the moon comes out I read sacred poems.
I have nothing to report my friends.
If you want to find the meaning, stop chasing after
so many things.

--Ryokan (1758–1831)


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