The basis of art is change in the universe.
Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
Why so scrawny, cat? Starving for fat fish or mice... Or backyard love?
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.