I dropped into my ink the rays of the silver moon.
And their quality shone within the shining picture of eternity.
I wove the rays of the storytelling moon onto the tip of my vision.
And I sewed my poem-children with a perfect silken thread.
I struck the crystal of the nephrite moon onto my hardened heart.
And, in the darkness, there streamed from my poetry rays of jade.
I placed my song of grace before the mirror of the wise moon
And my poem, with its shining soul, dwelt in the light of Shambhala.