Returning to my native village after many years’ absence:
I'll I put up at a country inn and listen to the rain.
One robe, one bowl is all I have.
I light incense and strain to sit in meditation;
All night a steady drizzle outside the dark window --
Inside, poignant memories of these long years of pilgrimage.
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Comments
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After returning home myself recently I relate to this poem well. Sitting in a room spilling with memories, some sad, but mostly happy, the feel of poignancy is prevalant and ever-pervading.
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Time to reflect
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