Like a growing acquaintance you still glitter;
a lake in the glitter, swans chasing each other.
Their king rows through shady places,
others dream about his movements.
Sincerity, a large lotus that sways,
peacefully talks to the ripe fern
rejoising. The years, watching the depths
from the bright tower, will hinder
everything that moves in thought.
With a kind sentence I arrived at the share,
like an apple offering the sense
of my arrival. These were no swans
in sight. On the snow the tired soldiers
pitch camp noisily, on the hill.
Translated by: Graham W. Reid