Zen Poem

First days of spring - blue sky, bright sun.

Everything is gradually becoming fresh and green.

Carrying my bowl, I walk slowly to the village.

The children, surprised to see me,

Joyfully crowd about, bringing

My begging trip to an end at the temple gate.

I place my bowl on top of a white rock and

Hang my sack from a branch of a tree.

Here we play with the wild grasses and throw a ball.

For a time, I play catch while the children sing;

Then it is my turn.

Playing like this, here and there, I have forgotten the time.

Passers-by point and laugh at me, asking,

"What is the reason for such foolishness?"

No answer I give, only a deep bow;

Even if I replied, they would not understand.

Look around! There is nothing besides this.

 

  Ryokan, 1758-1831