An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill, <br />Overrun with rank weeds growing unchecked year after year; <br />There is no one left to tend the tomb, <br />And only an occasional woodcutter passes by. <br />Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair, <br />Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River. <br />One morning I set off on my solitary journey <br />And the years passed between us in silence. <br />Now I have returned to find him at rest here; <br />How can I honor his departed spirit? <br />I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone <br />And offer a silent prayer. <br />The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill <br />And I’m enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines. <br />I try to pull myself away but cannot; <br />A flood of tears soaks my sleeves.<br /><br />Taigu Ryokan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-my-teacher-8/