For a long time I have my abode

On the rocky cliff washed by

The blue seas and deep oceans;

Tarrying here, altogether, I've passed thru

A number of autumns and springs.

All alone I chant aloud my poems

And sing my improvising songs--

Perfectly fluent, I have no care at all.

My cave's thatched door is never closed--

It is always wide open and therefore

Makes no squeak; the spring bubbles out

Its delicious drink; it is left for ever

To take its own streaming downhill.

A stone-cold recess, into the shallow pit

I put my cinnabar kettle--utterly gurgling,

It is overflowing with my pine wine--

Evening tea made from the cypress needles

And cedar nuts incensed in my bowl

Large as a pond. . .

When I starve for food, I have one grain

Of aghada-herb -- my time-proved remedy

From hunger; and very soon, my mind

Against a warmish boulder and accumulate

My energy for another day to be although

Weather-beaten outside but warm within.