The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers
Old pond, frog jumps in - plop.
Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.