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.