The mountain is rough rock layers and strange shaped stones;
a lotus pond on top, water all around.
The shadow of the pagoda, upside down, shimmers in the water.
Windbells shake the moon till it falls through the clouds.
The guest at the gate rowed urgently through rough waves.
Under the bamboo monks play paduk leisurely through the day.
I am the king’s messenger; parting is inevitable.
I leave behind a poem and a promise to return.
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