Moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes
Listen, all creeping things, the bell of transience.
Don't kill!... The fly is asking you To save his life By rubbing his hands together
Where there are humans, You'll find flies, And Buddhas.
In the city fields Contemplating cherry-trees... Strangers are like friends
On the Death of his Child Dew Evaporates And all our world is dew...so dear, So fresh, so fleeting