You ask why I make my home in the mountain forest, And I smile, and am silent, And even my soul remains quiet: It lives in the other world Which no one owns. The peach trees blossom. The water flows.
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Why do I flee from you? My days and nights pour through me like complaints and become a story I forgot to tell. Help me. Even as I write these words I am planning to rise from the chair as soon as I finish this sentence.