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

Arise from sleep, old cat, And with great yawns and stretchings... Amble out for love

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

Even in warmest glow how cold my shadow

Listen, all creeping things, the bell of transience.

Reflected in the dragonfly's eye -- mountains.

There is no stranger under the cherry tree.