The end of spring- the poet is brooding about editors.
In pale moonlight / the wisteria's scent / comes from far away.
The spring sea rising and falling, rising and falling all day.
Grasses are misty, The waters silent- A tranquil evening.
In the water bucket a melon and an eggplant nodding to each other
in my garden I pick a musk melon feeling like a thief