Danh mục thơ Hồ Xuân Hương : - Chế sư
|Content:||Not a Chinese, nor really one of us|
With his shaved head, robe without flaps.
Cakes are placed before him, four or five kinds.
Behind him, nuns hover, six or seven.
Sometimes he strikes a cymbal, sometimes a bell or gong,
chanting hee, chanting haw, chanting hee, haw, họ
Perfecting that, maybe he'll be a Venerable
perched high up there on the Lotus Seat of Buddhas.