The precincts at day, quiet leisure of spring:
I give myself to the solitude, linger at my meals.
Gazing at flowers, I lean against the tree;
listening to birds, walk by the fragrant pond.
The courtyard is warm, a gathering place for the bees;
the stairs under a clear sky — enriched by creeping vines.
Good feelings come from every spot:
it's easy to write new poems.