An Autumn Night - Don’t Think Your

There Is Nothing You Can See That Is Not A Flower; There Is Nothing You Can Think That Is Not The Moon.

In This Poor Body, Composed Of One Hundred Bones And Nine Openings, Is Something Called Spirit, A Flimsy Curtain Swept This Way And That By The Slightest Breeze. It Is Spirit, Such As It Is, Which Led Me To Poetry, At First Little More Than A Pastime, Then The Full Business Of My Life. There Have Been Times When My Spirit, So Dejected, Almost Gave Up The Quest, Other Times When It Was Proud, Triumphant. So It Has Been From The Very Start, Never Finding Peace With Itself, Always Doubting The Worth Of What It Makes.

Fresh Spring! / The World Is Only Nine Days Old - / These Fields And Mountains!

Collecting All The Rains Of May The Swift Mogami River.

Just Washed, How Chill The White Leeks!