Plunge Deep Enough In Order To See

Now The Swinging Bridge Is Quieted With Creepers ... Like Our Tendrilled Life.

Every Moment Of Life Is The Last, Every Poem Is A Death Poem.

When I Speak My Lips Feel Cold - The Autumn Wind.

The Haiku That Reveals Seventy To Eighty Percent Of Its Subject Is Good. Those That Reveal Fifty To Sixty Percent, We Never Tire Of.

Without Bitterest Cold That Penetrates To The Very Bone, How Can Plum Blossoms Send Forth Their Fragrance All Over The World?