Wang Wei, Buddhist Poet...
Drifting
September skies are clear to the distance
Clearer still so far from humankind.
A heron by the pool, a mountain cloud,
Either of them makes the mind content.
The faintest ripples still and evening’s here.
The moon turns silver, and I dream,
Tonight, leaning on a single oar,
Drifting without thought of going home.
Clearer still so far from humankind.
A heron by the pool, a mountain cloud,
Either of them makes the mind content.
The faintest ripples still and evening’s here.
The moon turns silver, and I dream,
Tonight, leaning on a single oar,
Drifting without thought of going home.
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