Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
From the pine tree, learn of the pine tree; And from the bamboo, of the bamboo
Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.