鐔津文集 17.70

17.70

The mountains ahead passed through a night of rain; / Walking alone, I tread through spring mud. / At the sky's rim the sun is about to emerge; / From farming homes roosters crow once more. / A solitary plume of smoke rises where I walk; / The open wilderness dips low in my view. / Still glad to encounter a woodcutter, / Hand in hand we cross several streams.