If I had the knack I'd sing like Cherry flakes falling
I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.
There came a day when the clouds drifting along with the wind aroused a wanderlust in me, and I set off on a journey to roam along the seashores