Carrying a poppy he passes through the quarrel.
Face of the spring moon- about twelve years old, I'd say.
Where there are humans, You'll find flies, And Buddhas.
Listen, all creeping things, the bell of transience.
Moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes
Not gifted with genius but honestly holding his experiences deep in his heart, he kept his simplicity and humanity.