Stonehouse poem 4, translated by Red Pine
A paper-window bamboo hut a hedge of hibiscuswormwood soup for tea when guests arrivethe poor people I meet are mostly contentrare is the rich man not vain or wastefulI move my table to read sutras by moonlightI pick wildflowers to fill my altar vaseeveryone says Tushita Heaven is finebut how can it match this place of mine
Extracts 