Classic Poem

At night I follow bell and chant
here, to this spiritual source.
Smiling, I take off my sash
and lie down for a sleep in the deserted hall.
I'll engage the monks in conversation—
many are old acquaintances;
or sit in meditation—perhaps this is my karma?
Stately, noble: the pines and junipers
sway the mountain moon;
high, imposing: the towers and terraces
hold the evening mists.
My dusty verses—how many years ago did they reach this place?

I try to read them with my portable lamp
but they're already fading away.