At first like a single firefly's gleam,
Soon several points like scattered stars they seem.
Suddenly they link, an unbroken line,
Like golden snakes startling the night, crossing in design.
Or like a hundred-foot rainbow, thirst-slaked, done drinking from the stream,
Writhing, coiling, its force aiming to touch the azure supreme.
Strange lights and colors too dazzling to face,
Their inverted blaze on thatched roofs leaves but a shimmering trace.
I've heard of a treasure mirror in royal halls of old,
Eight inches across, 'Purple Pearl' was the name it told.
Coated with golden unguent and powdered pearl's grace,
Its jade light and crimson aura held sun and moon in embrace.
And I've heard of the Western Sage, Sakyamuni's son,
Preaching the Law in Jetavana, guiding everyone.
Auspicious light from his crown surged without end,
Three thousand worlds merged into one hue, a white moon to attend.
Could these strange lights and colors be such a sight?
If not, whence comes this sudden, towering auspicious light?
The Lord of Heaven has a wondrous hand,
What name can describe this transformation grand?
Suddenly from the greenness, forms appear,
Then back to withering, to nothingness clear.
The ashes left still nourish all things below,
Vital force soon fills heaven and earth, you know.
Thus we learn the primal breath never dies,
Not chased by fire's change, it perpetually lies.
See how its remnant moisture fosters sprout and shoot,
Can dead ashes possess such divine attribute?
The autumn wind vast blows on treasures untold,
We wipe our eyes to see granaries in households manifold.