Seasons

1

Heat in the environment.

The hoe is hot.

I hear the singing, fresh,

of the cuckoo.

The bells of the place

follow the rhythm

of the sleepy prayers of the temple.

2

White is my boat,

like the lilies of the field.

With my beloved

I furrow the lake of the high mountain.

The peonies tremble.

A snake crawls

between the violets.

3

Crack the branches of the trees,

some will die.

The cicadas have surrounded the house.

For them, it doesn't take any effort

to destroy the tender leaves.

4

Dance beauty,

red, yellow,

around the Buddha.

The frogs jump

on leaf litter.

Whirlwinds of leaves.

5

The night,

wet with dew,

looks sad.

The leaves travel

the width world.

Water of the pond

is cold.

Slow, the snail

stretch your head.

6

Scared,

it moves away

the elk of the stream.

The hills undulate

before the rumor of the feast.

The crickets are silent.

The moon has a carmine tinge

about the mallow flowers.

The night resounds

between the stones.

7

It swings

the bamboo tree

like my heart in autumn.

I climb the blind

and I see that the wind, still,

is serene.