Classic Poem

The true path is shadowy and still, far away and hard to find;
embracing none but empty thoughts, let me walk through past and present
Emerald waters, emerald hills — what do they know of ego?
Sheltering heaven, sheltering earth, there is only mindlessness.
Uncertain colors of evening: a moon parting from the grass;
restless voice of autumn: wind that inhabits the forest.
Eyes, ears both forgotten, my body too is lost;
alone in the void I sing a song of white clouds.