A Poem to a Taoist Hermit Chuanjiao Mountain
My office has grown cold today;
And I suddenly think of my mountain friend
Gathering firewood down in the valley
Or boiling white stones for potatoes in his hut...
I wish I might take him a cup of wine
To cheer him through the evening storm;
But in fallen leaves that have heaped the bare slopes,
How should I ever find his footprints!
poem by Wei Yingwu, translated by Witter Bynner
Added by Dan Costinaş
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