The autumn mountains—
 
I see them for a moment,
 
then the fog rolls in.

 
 

The summer mountains
 
seem to have no cares at all,
 
but I have many.

 
 
 

Blackbird, do you know
 
the song of autumn mountains?
 
Teach me every note.

 
 
 

The distant mountains
 
are singing to me again—
 
Labor Day longing.

 
 
 

Long summer journey—
 
even the distant mountains
 
are too close for me.

 
 
 

In a sheltered place
 
beyond the winter mountains
 
a plum tree blossoms.

 
 
 

the winter mountains—
 
even with a companion
 
a taxing journey

 
 
 

Sunrise, almost spring—
 
somewhere high in the mountains
 
a pine tree topples.

 
 
 

An empty pathway
 
skirting the winter mountains
 
calls out to my feet.

 
 
 

Ruthless winter wind,
 
you keep grinding the mountains
 
into mounds of dust.