Classic Poem

Right eye cloudy, left leg partly paralyzed;
golden scalpels, loadstone water could never effect a cure.
Better to turn my thoughts to Three Vehicle joy,
to know that the hundred ills of this floating life are empty.
I have no son with whom to share a grass hut;
my wife and I grow old together in this place of religious practice.
From now on why bother asking monks to keep me company?
Moon-in-Midair has come home to be companion to a sick old man.