A solitary cloud floats out of a mountain cave;
it stays or departs without a care.
The bright mirror of the moon hangs in the sky;
impervious to chaos and fear.
The shadow of the oak sweeps over the fields
but the dew is not disturbed.
The crescent of the moon passes over the lake
its shimmering surface unperturbed.
The stream rushes down swiftly
but all is silent.
The grasses wave unceasing in the breeze
but I am quiet, inviolate.
Sitting quietly, doing nothing,
Spring comes and the grass grows by itself.