the carcass of an ancient inn
rests in a valley green
weary voyagers would long trudge
by the time it was seen

through a pass and round a bend
shaded by stark snow-caps
caravans moved by sight and coots
without a guide or maps

I heard the Buddha from the banks
of a river gently flowing.
Long before throngs swelled his ranks,
in the days of heaven knowing.

I sought the ferryman to cross,
to hear more than a faint mumble.
I felt missed words as a great loss,
and was made both mild and humble.

But, having missed that wise sermon,
my own truth I must determine.