And I Can't Complain. After All, Only

It's Remarkable How We Go On Year After Year, Doing The Same Old Things. We Get Tired And Bored, And Ask When They'll Come For Us

Even If You Have The Wit To Look By Yourself In A Bush Away From The Other Children, There Are Not Many Bell Crickets In The World. Probably You Will Find A Girl Like A Grasshopper Whom You Think Is A Bell Cricket.and Finally, To Your Clouded, Wounded Heart, Even A True Bell Cricket Will Seem Like A Grasshopper. Should That Day Come, When It Seems To You That The World Is Only Full Of Grasshoppers, I Will Think It A Pity That You Have No Way To Remember Tonight's Play Of Light, When Your Name Was Written In Green By Your Beautiful Lantern On A Girl's Breast.

Put Your Soul In The Palm Of My Hand For Me To Look At, Like A Crystal Jewel. I'll Sketch It In Words.

In The Depths Of The Mirror The Evening Landscape Moved By, The Mirror And The Reflected Figures Like Motion Pictures Superimposed One On The Other. The Figures And The Background Were Unrelated, And Yet The Figures, Transparent And Intangible, And The Background, Dim In The Gathering Darkness, Melted Into A Sort Of Symbolic World Not Of This World. Particularly When A Light Out In The Mountains Shone In The Center Of The Girl's Face, Shimamura Felt His Chest Rise At The Inexpressible Beauty Of It.

Seeing The Moon, He Becomes The Moon, The Moon Seen By Him Becomes Him. He Sinks Into Nature, Becomes One With Nature. The Light Of The "clear Heart" Of The Priest, Seated In The Meditation Hall In The Darkness Before The Dawn, Becomes For The Dawn Moon Its Own Light.