Night comes and snow falls.
On the edge of a brook
I hear an owl hooting forever in the mountains.
Fallen leaves lie scattered under the snow.

What a bleak landscape–
a moment too late I realize
how to be wise after sorrow.
Things of this world
are an idle show,
the skin-deep beauty our mind creates.
In the sweet-scented autumn night
the trees throw twisting shadows
on leaves torn off by the lashing rain.

translated by Jaihiun Kim & Ronald B. Hatch