|字體：小 中 大|
The sun was sinking westerly in Mt Yanzhi;
I called on a lone monk living there in a thatched hut.
There was no sign of him everywhere except fallen leaves;
through chilly clouds I crossed mountain trails a lot.
Then I found him clinking the bell alone,
leisurely propping himself on a cane.
Hence everyone of us is a minute existence in this world,
why must I care about fondness and disdain?
|( 創作｜散文 )|