Cloud-blossoming mountains growing
toward a heavenly blue sky.
The road is out-of-the-way and the
forest is profound—there
are no wayfarers here.
Far-off I see the desolate immortal
toad moon shining brightly.
Nearby I hear a flock of birds and
their familiar chirping.
An old man is sitting alone on a dark
green cliff.
Retiring to this abode, he lets
his hair grow gray.
He sighs the past is like the present
day—
unpremeditated, like all those rivers
flowing east.
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