The road to the cold mountain never ends
Valleys are long, the rivers deep
Piled with pebbles, stones, huge rocks
Tall grass grows on sides of wild streams
Moss is slippery though no rains
Pines sigh without the wind
Who can escape the world's maya
and come to sit on rocks with me
among the white clouds passing by.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem