Waking early,
In the dimness, silence roars.
Heavy mountain rains,
And the trickle of the creek.
Picking wild herbs,
The coolness of the bowl on my fingers.
Unbinding in warm light,
As the valley spirit returns.
What is there to want?
Waking early,
In the dimness, silence roars.
Heavy mountain rains,
And the trickle of the creek.
Picking wild herbs,
The coolness of the bowl on my fingers.
Unbinding in warm light,
As the valley spirit returns.
What is there to want?
by
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