Poetry Anthology

A thousand peaks with no bird flying over,
Myriad paths where human tracks are covered.
On the only boat an old, straw-cloaked man,
Alone, fishes the cold, snowy river.

A thousand mountains—no birds flying over.
A myriad paths—human footprints are covered.
Solitary boat—an old, straw-cloaked man
Alone, fishes the cold, snowy river.

Into a thousand mountains birds fly out of sight
where countless travelers’ paths disappear.
In a solitary skiff, under poncho and rainhat, an old man
sits alone, fishing the icy river, as it snows.

A thousand mountains, birds fly off
Ten thousand paths, people’s prints gone
A solitary skiff, poncho, rainhat, old man
Alone, fishing, winter, river, snow