Do Not Sigh Over the Grey Hairs
Orchid buds are soaked in the stream alongside the hill,
Mud-free, among green pines the sandy path lies still,
In the nightfall drizzling cuckoo calls sound chill.
Who dare say that an old man can’t rejuvenate?
The river past the temple turns west in the ultimate,
Don’t sigh over the grey hairs and become a degenerate.
(tran.)
Copyright © Charlie Way | Year Posted 2019
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