Living in the Hills

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Alone, at peace, I close the door.
 Shut out the sky’s evening flame.
 Cranes settle in the pines.
 No one comes to try my gate.
 Bamboo tender with new growth.
 Red lotus shedding its old sleeves.
 A light glows down by the ford.
 Gathering water-chestnuts. They come home.

© Wang Wei