A hundred sorrows under a single sail:
wind and waves , poles of the line of vision ,
birds sunk in the mist , and the mountain with them.
All the color of the south, still cold next to the skin .


Getting past this place, this autumn of the heart ,
one starts to know what hard traveling means.
The evening sun lingers a moment on the sandbar.
I turn my head with one long sigh.

(A Hundred Sorrows from the poetry of Zen , translated by J.P.S )