The long winter day,
its mists rising,
before i know it
has turned to twilight,
and the heart that crowds my chest
hurts me so
I moan
like the mountain thrushes.
Then from the mountains
where our great Lord,
a god aloof,
is pleased to wander,
a wind comes blowing,
and as i stand alone,
morning and night,
it turns back my sleeve
and I think how auspicious
is that one word "back"!
I call myself a man of spirit,
but on this journey,
grass for a pillow,
my thoughts keep going back—
no way to stop them—
and like the fires that burn
when fishergirls of Ami Bay
boil down their salt,
these memories burn
deep within my heart.
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