I Keep Reincarnating, Why Is He Still Alive?

When his master picks food, he spins the table there;

When his master chants spells, he chats without a care;

When his master takes rest, he sings a lively song;

When his master lies late, he bangs the pot along;

His master lives on long, but his life is rather short;

His master lays him down on the hillside, as a sort;

His master lifts a cup, but he won’t take a drink;

His master shares a tale, but he won’t stop to think;

His master holds a feast, but he leaves the table wide;

His master calls his soul, but he’s nowhere to abide.

Spring returns to the hills, with blooms so bright and fair,

Yet master and disciple are parted, one in heaven, one elsewhere.