Road

Deepening winter—

I take the road less taken

and soon lose my way.

Mist

Will I lose my way

on this wintry afternoon,

pushing through the mist?

Winter pilgrimage—

how many snows will whiten

the way that I take?

Deepening autumn—

on my way to the teahouse

rain begins to fall.

What can you tell me,

tall pine tree on the mountain,

of the way ahead?

In the labyrinth

a feather from a sparrow

seems to block my way.

In the labyrinth

no GPS is needed—

my feet know the way.