To the fuki plant, dandelions, and their kind that lie for long patiently under the fallen snow, comes the season of breezy spring. No sooner do they see the light of the world, stretching their longing heads out from the cracks in the snow, than they are instantly nipped off. For these plants isn't the sorrow as deep as that of the child's parents whose child had accidentally died? They say everything in the plant and tree kingdom attains Buddhahood. Then they, too, must have Buddha-nature.

Here I'm here- the snow falling.

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

In spring rain a pretty girl yawning.

Even with insects - some can sing, some can't.

The world of dew is the world of dew. And yet, and yet--

before the gate -- my walking stick's made a river of melting snow