Friday, August 22, 2014

An Old Monk's Poem


No luck today on my mendicant rounds;
From village to village I dragged myself.
At sunset I find myself with miles of mountains
........between me and my hut.
The wind tears at my frail body,
And my little bowl looks so forlorn--
Yet this is my chosen path that guides me
Through disappointment and pain, cold and hunger.

---Ryokan---

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