First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.

I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.

There came a day when the clouds drifting along with the wind aroused a wanderlust in me, and I set off on a journey to roam along the seashores

Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.

Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.

Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.

Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.