I pondered Buddha's teaching
A full four and eighty years.
The gates are all now locked about me.
No one was ever here -
Who then is he about to die,
And why lament for nothing?
Farewell!
The night is clear,
The moon shines calmly,
The wind in the pines
Is like a lyre's song.
With no I and no other
Who hears the sound?
Zoso Royo