Saturday, August 20, 2016

Son Mountain 14: A Cold Mountain Transcreation

My home is below lush green cliffs
with weeds in the yard uncropped—
vines hang in spiraling loops,
ancient rock rises high and steep,
monkeys gather the highland fruit,
egrets fill their bills with fish from the pond.
One or two scrolls of the immortals
go murmuring under the trees.

(from the translations of RP22, RH-16, BW-72)

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