Deep on the mountain’s an unseen cloister;
Wicker shadows lock in the long bamboos.
Suddenly there’s a bell
Ringing now and then,
Empty valley filling with white clouds
Off drawing water, an old monk returns;
Pine-tree dew stains his robe green.
Bell barely murmurs; the cloister gate has closed.
Mountain birds, all by themselves,
Skirmish over roosting spots. -
Ch’en Fou (1240 – 1319)
found this poem on the web...that's the beautiful part of the web...it's a huge library, a huge community...I know that we may find the best and the worst...but we can't afford visiting all the countries, buying all the books...when I'm tired or not too well I love reading poems...I copy them on my blogs and print them on beautiful paper...but I always give the name of the author...the link to the site is in the title of this post...now, night is dark over Plumpiemousie, I'm going to bed with my books...I have a large bed and books in it and paper and pencils on the table...but I don't yet sleep with my computer !!!!!!
