Comfortably fixed for clothing and food, young ones married off,
from now on family affairs are no concern of mine.
In nightly rest, I'm a bird who's found its way to the forest;
at morning meals, I'm one in heart with the monk who begs his food.
Clear cries, several voices—cranes under the pines;
one spot of cold light—the lamp among the bamboo.
Late at night I practice meditation, sitting in lotus posture.
My daughter calls, my wife hoots—I don't answer either of them.