The Bamboo Villa

Simple food, coarse clothing are all you need—
more content than Tu Fu when he stayed in the West.
Your old wife prays to Buddha at the altar;
your daughter is weaving by the fire.

Chilly clouds scatter leaves from tall trees;
the moon's reflection surges in the cold stream.
No visitors come to the quiet thatched hut—
you get up, light a stick of incense,
watch the smoke write words in the air.
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Author of original: 
Shen Chou
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