鐔津文集 18.115

18.115

Strolling through the wilds, the creek flow is quiet; / the source is deep, my inspiration has not yet turned back. / Evening birds roost in snow-laden bamboo; / lingering sleet sprinkles my Chan robe. / Giving free rein to my mind toward distant heaven's edge, / in wild chanting, few people are encountered. / The poem completed, I send it to my companions; / its pure air stirs the forest gate.