Classic Poem

It is Spring in the mountains
I come alone seeking you
The sound of chopping wood echos
Between the silent peaks
The streams are still icy
There is snow on the trail.
At sunset I reach your grove
In the stony mountain pass
You want nothing, although at night
You can see the aura of gold
And silver ore all around you
You have learned to be gentle
As the mountain deer you have tamed
The way back forgotten, hidden
Away, I become like you,
An empty boat, floating, adrift.