Facing this grove of noble trees
I alone looked depressed
missing work due to illness
I knew no pleasure for weeks
until a monk came to inquire
and a poet knocked on my gate
with friends of the Way my cares soon vanished
but my symptoms returned when they left
that garden path now is still and dark
there is only the din of cicadas
from my upper window I can see past the city
evening has reached the autumn hills
my colleagues are happy to be leaving work
but regrets are all I can think of