Steering my boat afloat, I see a row
Of trees by the side of the river:
Wrecked and destroyed—
They cannot be described.
Just two or three remnants
Of trunks are still there;
A thousand of blades
Left on them deep scars.
Frost has languished and
Scattered about the leaves;
Lashing of waves have rotted
And decayed the tangle of roots.
A lot of beings born in this world
Are just like this; what is the use
In blaming the stars and the heavens
While the earthly fetters tie up your hands!
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Always,
Deborah