Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
The basis of art is change in the universe.
Sadly, I part from you; Like a clam torn from its shell, I go, and autumn too.
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
Old pond, frog jumps in - plop.