El templo rústico se esconde
entre los pinos. Las brumas de la tarde
se mueven alrededor de este refugio
de montaña. La primavera envejece.
Nadie pasa. Dorado, imperturbable,
polvo de polen cubre el camino.
The rustic temple is hidden
Amongst the trees. The mists of
evening drift round the mountain
Cabin.Spring grows old. No one
Comes by. Undisturbed the gold
dust of pine pollen covers the path.
Amongst the trees. The mists of
evening drift round the mountain
Cabin.Spring grows old. No one
Comes by. Undisturbed the gold
dust of pine pollen covers the path.
Kenneth Rexroth, One hundred more poems from the chinese love and the turning year, New Directions.
Versión en castellano de Laura Wittner y Paz Levinson
