Evening; I lean upon my bamboo staff from Szechwan,
While waiting for you at the end of Tiger Stream.
—Guests always hurry away when they hear the growl
of the tiger in the mountains—
Following the flowing water I return to the monastery.
Clusters of wild flowers burgeon with bloom;
How lonely the cry of the mountain bird!
I sit in solitude in this deserted village;
The pine wind moans like fall...