Along the trunk of old and twisted pines
Daylight shades down sluggishly,
As if a drop of sap creeps to the fingers
Of the deep-rooted in the ground limbs.
The hollow of the old and twisted tree
Is like the world's pillar -- ever empty,
But fire it and the world will be all dark.

Time flows along the universal channels
To be the treacle for the years to gratify,
And the sweetness of its melting honey
Trickles down in the tail of a shooting star
That falls down in the Celestial Lake,
Repeating time and again the paved way
Of so beautiful but never changing pattern.