Majung Village

　　by Ko Un

　　 Over the steep， panting hills where

　　 I rest my heart.

　　 I like the simple homeliness

　　 of the bitch and her puppies.

　　 For how many centuries have

　　 such homely sights been dear to us？

　　 The stern old nettle tree standing by the village gate

　　 gathers sweeping winds.

　　 That's not all.

　　 Beyond the village

　　 the well never dries.

　　 What a wonder it is，

　　 the well's not a dipperful lower.

　　 Children throw stones.

　　 On the other side of the hills

　　 pheasants flutter away， frightened for no reason.

　　 The snow's not gone yet.

　　 An old man， arms akimbo， runs into an eddy of wind