The murmuring waters beneath Seungseon Bridge resemble the sea.
The fragrance of the Seonam Plum Tree,
where six hundred years of suns have passed,
is the wind-swept shore of countless layers of human lives.
Walking the ochre earthen path, like a condor soaring into the sky,
softly, softly comes the elegant sound of its wings.
Alone, this flower-lined path overflows the heart.
I cannot read every tightly sealed silence;
yet when I love again, as one gently turns a pair of shoes
beneath the doorstep toward departure,
what if love leaves me once more?
The condor that walked the ochre path into the forest
may never return.
Still, with the dignity of all that has endured, let us not weep too long.
Let us wait for love that will appear like a miracle
around the bend in the road—
a love like magic, a love like an island.
Standing on the plum blossom path, like the blue-green underskirt
of a beauty from Joseon,
standing on the plum blossom path where blossoms bloom
to the radiant chant of Buddhist prayers,
let even the tiniest fray of this single thread of life
flower into jeweled blossoms.
On this spring day,
so piercing it makes the heart tremble,
let us enter Seonamsa Temple.
