A Child Walked By, Rolling A Metal

A Child Walked By, Rolling A Metal Hoop That Made A Sound Of Autumn.

The True Joy Of A Moonlit Night Is Something We No Longer Understand. Only The Men Of Old, When There Were No Lights, Could Understand The True Joy Of A Moonlit Night.

I Suppose Even A Woman's Hatred Is A Kind Of Love.

A Poetess Who Had Died Young Of Cancer Had Said In One Of Her Poems That For Her, On Sleepless Nights, 'the Night Offers Toads And Black Dogs And Corpses Of The Drowned.

But A Haiku By Buson Came Into His Mind: 'i Try To Forget This Senile Love; A Chilly Autumn Shower.' The Gloom Only Grew Denser.