Come, See The True Flowers Of This

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

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

How I Long To See Among Dawn Flowers, The Face Of God.

Not To Think Of Yourself / As Someone Who Did Not Count -- / Festival Of The Souls.

Calm And Serene The Sound Of A Cicada Penetrates The Rock.