The waterfall on South Mountain
Hits the rocks,
Tosses back its foam
With terrifying thunder,
Blotting out even
Face-to-face talk.
Collapsing water and
Bouncing foam soak blue moss,
Old moss so thick
It drowns the spring grass.
Animals are hushed.
Birds fly but don’t sing
Yet a white turtle plays on the
Pool’s sand floor
Under riotous spray,
Sliding about with the torrents.
The people of the land
Are benevolent.
No angling or net fishing.
The white turtle lives
Out its life, naturally.

- Wang Wei (699-761)