Go to the pine if you want to learn about the pine, or to the bamboo if you want to learn about the bamboo. And in doing so, you must leave your subjective preoccupation with yourself. Otherwise you impose yourself on the object and you do not learn.
This autumn- why am I growing old? bird disappearing among clouds.
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.