Yesterday morning, while wandering about alone in a pine forest, I amused myself by piling up a small sandhill under an old pine tree.
"Let this be my own grave." said I.
Picking up a piece of white stone, I scribbled my name on it and said, "Let this be my own gravestone."
On either side of the grave, I transplanted a pine sapling to keep it company.
This morning, recalling the grave, I went to pay a visit to it.
But the grave was nowhere to be found though I searched every nook and corner of the dense forest. Where was it gone to?
O ye remains of my yesterday's dead self, it was your own soul that had come to mourn at the grave! Where was my grave gone to?