A Poem

Walking beside a clear running river, I come to a farmhouse.
The evening chill has given way to the warmth of the
...morning sun.
Sparrows gather in a bamboo grove, voices fluttering
...here and there.
I meet the old farmer returning to his home;
He greets me like a long-lost friend.
At his cottage, the farmer's wife heats sake'
While we eat freshly picked vegetables and chat.
Together, gloriously drunk, we no longer know
The meaning of unhappiness.

---Ryokan---