Returning from the Dojo

Returning from the Dojo, on the Holy mountain, in the wind and the rain, to rest in his cabin by the river weeds, he ordered his slave to hold a candle, put his pen to a branch of windswept, wet bamboo, and wrote the poem: Multitudes uplifted to dance they throng, Hold the candle, my windswept bamboo is song, All beauty is broken, like a fractured limb, Or a waist, or a face, with no countenance.