I like the mention of polishing the path and the Pure Land, both very evocative.

Master Wôlmyông (c. 742-765)

Requiem for the Dead Sister

On the hard road of life and deathThat is near our land,You went, afraid,Without words.

We know not where we goLeaves blown, scattered,Though fallen from the same tree,By the first winds of autumn.

Ah, I will polish the pathUntil I meet you in the Pure Land.