Written on a Landscape Painting in an Album
White clouds encircle the waist of the hills like a belt;
A stony ledge soars into the void, a narrow path into space.
Alone, I lean on my thornwood staff and gaze calmly into the distance,
About to play my flute in reply to the song of this mountain stream.
A stony ledge soars into the void, a narrow path into space.
Alone, I lean on my thornwood staff and gaze calmly into the distance,
About to play my flute in reply to the song of this mountain stream.
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