Old Poetry Poetry • Poets • Essays • Forums •

On the HanShan Path

The trail to Cold Mountain is faint
the banks of Cold Stream are a jungle
birds constantly chatter away
I hear no sound of people
gusts of wind lash my face
flurries of snow bury my body
day after day no sun
year after year no spring


Leave a guest comment (subject to review)

    : Comment:

    Name: (required)
    Email: (required, hidden from spam)