Starting Early

Washed by the rain, dust and grime are laid
Skirting the river, the roads course is flat
The moon has risen on the last remnants of the night
THe travellers speed profits by the early cold
In the great silence I whisper a faint song
In the black darkness are bred somber thoughts
On the lotus bank hovers a dewy breeze
Through the rice furrows trickles a singing stream
At the noise of our bells a sleeping dog stirrs
At the sight of our tourches a roosting bird wakes
Dawn glimmers through the slopes of misty trees
For ten miles, till day at last breaks