Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.
An autumn night - donโt think your life didnโt matter.
Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.