The falling snow is purely white now,
As it is lying slowly on the stony ground.
Though its high source is unseen at all,
It comes down from one single spot --
The famously known Celestial Pond,
The final point of a lifelong wandering.
The white is not truly white any more,
As it is mixed up with the reddish robes
Of the itinerant monks who, travelling
From one hidden monastery to another,
Leave their tracks on the snowy passes.
Since the white is impure now, all what
Is aligned with the Heavenly Lake
Lies beyond the worldly undertakings.
As the roots of things are never seen,
All conversts break out suddenly fast,
Like a snowflake thawed on your face.
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