Classic Poem

Beyond the temple, a hidden cliff,
reached by a path of stones.
On the cliff, an enlightened hermit,
like Master Tan-hsia.
His mind holds the moon in the waters,
empty of all dharmas.
He sits facing a cold precipice
where a single blossom falls.
In the clear night, the sound of the tide
turns the pages of his palm-leaf book;
at all times, cloud-vapors protect his monk's robe.
From afar, a fleeting glimpse of him: you know
he's hard to find!
And then—a flutter of returning horsemen,
surrounding the Imperial carriage.