I move my table to read sutras by moonlight

Stonehouse poem 4, translated by Red Pine
A paper-window  bamboo hut a hedge of hibiscus
wormwood soup for tea when guests arrive
the poor people I meet are mostly content
rare is the rich man not vain or wasteful
I move my table to read sutras by moonlight
I pick wildflowers to fill my altar vase
everyone says Tushita Heaven is fine
but how can it match this place of mine

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