Being towards death
Heed not to the tree-rustling and leaf-lashing rain,
Why not stroll along, whistle and sing under its rein.
Lighter and better suited than horses are straw sandals and a bamboo staff,
Who's afraid?
A palm-leaf plaited cape provides enough to misty weather in life sustain.
A thorny spring breeze sobers up the spirit,
I feel a slight chill,
The setting sun over the mountain offers greetings still.
Looking back over the bleak passage survived,
The return in time
Shall not be affected by windswept rain or shine.