The entire journey was on foot to this place,
Of moss, more moss, and my footstep’s trace.
White clouds about the banks in a quiet state,
The growing grass has covered the fence’s gate.
 
Passing rain, the pine’s green color in course,
I follow the mountain, to the water’s source.
These river flowers, in a moment’s sensation,
Have brought us to meet in silent meditation.
 
 
Original Chinese Poem
 

Hundreds of acres—this garden is covered with moss;
Peach flowers now cauliflowers, filling to the end.
Where did the monk who tended this soil go?
Once I was young and now I’m back here again.
 
 
Original in Chinese