Moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes
Summer night-- even the stars are whispering to each other.
Face of the spring moon- about twelve years old, I'd say.
In the cherry blossom's shade there's no such thing as a stranger.
The world of dew is the world of dew. And yet, and yet--
On the Death of his Child Dew Evaporates And all our world is dew...so dear, So fresh, so fleeting