On the Death of his Child Dew Evaporates And all our world is dew...so dear, So fresh, so fleeting

On the Death of his Child Dew Evaporates And all our world is dew...so dear, So fresh, so fleeting

In the city fields Contemplating cherry-trees... Strangers are like friends

In the cherry blossom's shade there's no such thing as a stranger.

Red morning sky - snail, are you glad of it?

Face of the spring moon- about twelve years old, I'd say.

There is no stranger under the cherry tree.