Self Portrait

All alone I visit a deserted well by a paddy-field
        beyond the hill.
Then I quietly look into the water.
In the well, the moon is bright; clouds saunter; the
        sky spreads; blue winds breathe;
the autumn dwells; and there is a man.
Somehow I hate the man. So I turn around to go
        away.
On my way back, I feel sorry for the man.
I return to the well and look down. He remains in
        his place.
I hate him again. I turn around to go away.
On the way back, I long for the man.
In the well, the moon is bright; clouds saunter; the
        sky spreads; the blue winds breathe;
the autumn dwells; and the man stands there like
        memory.