Only a few monks are left in this old monastery, Which has space rooms
to accommodate sojourners. Old friends share with me part of their
salary and rice; Neighbors bring me vegetables from their gardens. Only
two trees here remind one of those under which Buddha preached;
The three carts I brought are for books, not sutras. How dare I write
The Great Mystery? In literature I might aspire to resemble Yang
Hsiung.