Year By Year, The Monkey's

Without Bitterest Cold That Penetrates To The Very Bone, How Can Plum Blossoms Send Forth Their Fragrance All Over The World?

My Body, Now Close To Fifty Years Of Age, Has Become An Old Tree That Bears Bitter Peaches, A Snail Which Has Lost Its Shell, A Bagworm Separated From Its Bag; It Drifts With The Winds And Clouds That Know No Destination. Morning And Night I Have Eaten Traveler's Fare, And Have Held Out For Alms A Pilgrim's Wallet.

Do Not Resemble Me-never Be Like A Musk Melon Cut In Two Identical Halves.

Seek Not The Paths Of The Ancients; Seek That Which The Ancients Sought.

Seek On High Bare Trails Sky-reflecting Violets... Mountain-top Jewels