A Poem

In my middle years I quite loved the Tao;
In old age, I made my house near the southern          mountains.
When I feel like it, I go out—always alone.
On my own, I know the vanity of gain [and loss].
Walking to where the stream begins,
I sit and watch the clouds arise.
By chance, I met an old man in the forest;
We talked and laughed so that I forgot to go               home.

---Wang Wei---