A Thief of Scent
I meditated through the morning hours,
Then made my alms round with my begging bowl;
And taking it to some secluded knoll,
I sat beneath a wild and leafy bower,
To eat my midday meal among the flowers.
But soon I was distracted and was drawn
By one red lotus in the nearby pond,
And lost what I had gained of virtue’s power.
I waded in and stooped to breathe her breath,
Then rose, inebriated with conceit,
As though I were invulnerable to death;
And every day I courted thus my sweet,
Until a deva spied out where I went:
“My righteous friend, you are a thief—of scent!”