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

Here I'm here- the snow falling.

Not gifted with genius but honestly holding his experiences deep in his heart, he kept his simplicity and humanity.

Summer night-- even the stars are whispering to each other.

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

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

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