Classic Poem

While it's still the season of life
plow, plow the field
of the heart.
Do not lie barren while the rain
pours down the pure white water
of the mind.
From the infinite ocean
the monsoon has come
drifting in.
The heart's soil bursts with flowers,
the song of the rains
resounds.
Scorn the body — the cattle of the senses —
buckle down and plow,
plow the field.
Plant the seeds of karma in the world
by the thousands, and bring
the rich lush fields to bear.
While it's the season of life
plow it and plant it
and make it bloom.
Cruel time, alas, returns
to no one: and so, don't
lie sleeping.
Plant, plant all these seeds right now
so the grain may ripen
afterward.
And later when harsh winter
comes to you