Who but Ryokan could gift us
with a poem
subtly comparing his declining body
and aging mind
with his beloved walking stick
he says he doesn't know
from what past life
what former age the staff
was handed down
but now its outer skin
has peeled away
leaving only the true
and solid core
and though in youth
he'd often used it
to test for deep and shallow
and so save himself
from stumbling off the path
today it leans against the eastern wall
waiting to help him cross beyond
this flowing stream
of time and worldly cares