Classic Poem

Fasting and precepts, Zen meditation for thirty days,
pipes and songs from neighbors on four sides.
The moon is brightest nights when I've given up wine,
though eyesight's too poor for anyone viewing blossoms.
Luckily I've learned to look at things as void,
know well that thoughts are defilements.
But still I recall the laughter of idle conversations,
can't forget old companions and friends.
For long I've played the host at Dragon Gate,
often a guest in Rabbit Garden:
waterside picnics, the songs going on all day,
snowy banquets where torches blaze till dawn.
In all things I exceed my station;
time and time I ask myself why.
And can I now ignore the sights
this spring of my seventy-fourth year?