Late at night, listening to the winter rain,
recalling my youth–
Was it only a dream? Was I really young once?
Another blizzard–the mountains are
covered with deep snow,
From now on, news from town must wait till spring.
Wind and snow, then snow and rain:
tonight, awakened by the cry of a wild goose
In the dark, endless winter sky.
Late at night, the snow
is piling higher and higher,
Muffling the sound of the waterfall.
In the shadow of the mountains
the firewood burns, brightening
My cold little grass hut.
Have you forgotten the way to my hut?
Every evening I wait for the sound of your footsteps,
But you do not appear.
What is the heart of this old monk like?
A gentle wind
Beneath the vast sky.
Months pass, days pile up,
like one intoxicated dream–
An old man sighs.