Quiet night

Two Poems of Ryokan

On a quiet evening in my thatched-roof hut, 
alone I play a lute with no string. 
Its melody enters wind and cloud,  
mingles deeply with a flowing stream, 
fills out the dark valley, 
blows through the vast forest, then disappears. 
Other than those who hear emptiness, 
who will capture this rare sound? 
 

Ryokan 

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