The Hill Poem by VaGótha Kuroibara

Field of plains—
Hills of singularity.
A tree of fruitlessness
Atop the hill.

In my wake in field of plains,
One hill is where I sit.
Against the monad of tree.
One hill is where I stand.

Venture far, I do not go.
Stationed here, I do stay low.
Winds of East, yet sunrise North.
Rains of South, yet grassgrowth West.

Only rains when night falls over.
Day is dry when sunset slumber.
Venture far? I don not go.
Stationed here, I do not grow!

Quite the test.
Will I pass?
Venture far.
Will I last?

Long as I remember who,
The God of All Comfort.
I must bid this hill, "Adieu".

Uncomfortable to leave—the familiar.
Bereaved to leave—my...familiar.

Long as I remember who,
The God of All Comfort
Will bring me anew!

A new familiar.
An old history.
A different quest.
Another growth.

Longing in staying,
But meaning in growing.

Until next hill,
See you; I will.