There is a tree on this mountain, it blossoms like a wild pear.
There is an animal on this mountain that looks like a horse.

From a cleft in the mountain, a spring
burbles up and staircases down, one finds

the minnows here to be nearly as transparent
as the iced waters in which they swim.

Old atlases name this place the Highlands of Elusive, but natives
in the markets say, “The Country of Luck.”

There was a man on this mountain who looked like an owl,
There was a man on this mountain who barked like a fox.

On the parchment map the hermit gave me, I can point out
where the River Look rises, and flows to empty into

the deep River You.
This is where flocks of birds are born.