Plunge Deep enough in order to see something that is hidden and glimmering.
A flute with no holes is not a flute.
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances