It's too cold,
too hot,
too late in the evening —
people who say this,
shirking their work:
the moment passes them by.
Whoever regards cold & heat
as no more than grass,
doing his manly duties,
won't fall away
from ease.
With my chest
I push through wild grasses —
spear-grass,
ribbon-grass,
rushes —
cultivating
a seclusion heart.