The Buddhist Monk's Dance Poem by Kinsley Lee

The cone hat is whi-te and flimsy tiffany,
Which be carefully folded like a butterfly.

The head is shaved in bluish-ly,
And is concealed in the cone hat made of the thin gauzy.

The both cheek on which the lights flow,
Factually, too beauty, so looks sorrow.

At night silently, the yellow candles are melting on the blanked candelabra.
The crescent sinking down on every leaves of the paulownia.

The sleeve is long so the sky is spacious.
Like spiral jump up and lightly cuffs on the small shapely socks

She is raising the black pupils in secretly
To be drawing on the one star light from the far sky

On peach blossomin' pretty cheeks, it's likely to form two drops.
To be harassed by the worldly affairs, the agony are the star-lights.

The curving, winding, again folding and stretching hands,
Like sacred, together, in the deep heart, putting the hands.

This night, too, sleepless until the midnight, the crickets're staying on,
The gauzy cone hat is white and thin, and which carefully be folded like a papillon.
(Translated by Kinsley Lee)