Once, I noticed a fresh bud,
growing in the dampened mud.
The bud is grown by the grizzled, old peasant
who received its seed as
New Year day’s present.
The young bud, watered from the mountain stream’s flood,
is as red as blood.
Seeing it glisten in the rays of the sun,
makes the work breathe easily done.
The silent bud under the radiance of the moon,
during the calm seasonal wind of monsoon
would gladden one’s heart with ease,
In which the most troublesome person can attain peace.
The bud’s outlook in life is amazing,
and its life on Earth is beyond appraising.
Oh dear bud, shine and thrive,
for god has given you magic and life!
