Song of the Pilgrim: Trees Ring the Village

Trees ring the village about; the pond brims with water. Leaning into the east wind, I wander where my fancy leads. The garden is small, yet it holds all of spring's light: there are peach flowers red, plum flowers white, and rapeseed flowers yellow.

Far off, the garden wall; faintly, a thatched hall. A blue flag flutters by the bridge above the stream. By chance, in high spirits, I cross the eastern ridge. Just now: the orioles sing, the swallows dance, and the butterflies are busy.