For a long time, I kept shaving bamboo,
pursuing the numbers
hidden behind its unseen curves.

The years passed,
the waters flowed on,
and people came and went.

In the end, all that remains
is a scrap of paper marked with a few numbers,
a handful of bamboo rods,
and memories.

People have gone,
even the river has changed its course,
and time has simply flowed on, quietly.