A Flute With No Holes Is Not

The Oak Tree: Not Interested In Cherry Blossoms.

Around Existence Twine, (oh, Bridge That Hangs Across The Gorge!) Ropes Of Twisted Vine.

Winter Solitude- In A World Of One Colour The Sound Of The Wind.

Nothing In The Cry Of Cicadas Suggests They Are About To Die

Farewell, My Old Fan. / Having Scribbled On It, / What Could I Do But Tear It / At The End Of Summer?