Crossing into Sainthood

Three years of wind and snow have crushed my bones; the proud plum before the stage will never return.

At the edge of a sheer cliff, spring grass is gone. Where in the wide world can I find a way to live?

Alone in a small boat, I drift through surging waves, until bird calls suddenly mingle with the green mountains.

With ambition sharper than a sword, I fight my way upstream. When pride blooms in my heart, spring will come on its own!

Though I have weathered three years of storms, my heart may be weary, yet I still laugh at the gentle breeze and cotton-soft snow. My heart is like a bird with nowhere to land. When all is on the line, I either fly or die!