In the end we return to formlessness. I think of you waiting to die. A thousand things cause me distress - Your kind old mother's still alive. Your only daughter's only ten. In the vast chilly wilderness I hear the sounds of weeping men.
Clouds float into a great expanse.
Birds fly but do not sing in flight. How lonely are the travellers. Even the sun shines cold and white. And so the end came, fruitlessly. But for your life these too are late.