Ryōkan

What is the heart of this old monk like?

A gentle wind beneath a vast sky.

Everywhere you look, the mountains are covered with mist and blooming cherry trees.

I have returned to Itogawa, my former village.

Falling ill, I rest in an inn and listen to the sound of rain.

One robe, one bowl are all I have.

Becoming a little stronger, I lift my weak body, burn some incense and sit in zazen.

At night, rain falls sadly, and I dream of my pilgrimage these past ten years.

Mid-autumn.

The wind and rain are now at their most melancholy.

A wanderer, my spirit is inseparable from this difficult road.

During the long night, dreams float from the pillow.

Awake suddenly, I have mistaken the sound of the river for the voice of the rain.

Carrying firewood on my shoulder, I walk in the green mountains along the bumpy path.

I stopped to rest under a tall pine.

Sitting quietly, I listened to the spring song of the birds.

Early summer, floating down a clear running river in a wooden boat,

A lovely girl gently plays with a crimson lotus flower held in her white hands.

The day becomes more and more brilliant.

Young men play along the shore and a horse runs by the willows.