鐔津文集 18.71

18.71

Lamps glimmer green in the cloud-valley temple; / The clear call of gibbons ceases, leaving lingering echoes. / By the balustrade plum blossoms are snowy white, spring wind is near; / Mountain rains pour in torrents, ravine waters deep. / Turning away from the world, my steps resemble the high bird's tracks; / Forming bonds, our minds match the heart of old pines. / Replying to your elegant lines with no fresh words, / I merely churn my poetic intestines, chanting through until dawn.