Sāṭi­mat­tiya

In the past you had faith,
Today you have none.
What’s yours is yours alone;
I’ve done nothing wrong.
Faith is impermanent, fickle—
So I have seen.
People’s passions wax and wane:
Why should a sage grow old worrying about that?
The meal of a sage is cooked
Bit by bit, in this family or that.
I’ll walk for alms,
For my legs are strong.