The Monk's View
Leaning on my staff, I gaze at the snow,
Clouds over the stream, thousands in a row.The woodcutter returns to his
white shack,
Sunset on the perilous peak, a chilling
attack.
Wildfire burns the hills and meadows,
Smoke rises, and the rocks embrace the pines, now shadows.
Returning to the mountain temple's path,
I hear the evening bell, a reminder of the past. |