The Sea Darkens And A Wild Duck

Winter Garden, The Moon Thinned To A Thread, Insects Singing.

If I Had The Knack I'd Sing Like Cherry Flakes Falling

Clapping My Hands With The Echoes The Summer Moon Begins To Dawn.

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

Real Poetry, Is To Lead A Beautiful Life. To Live Poetry Is Better Than To Write It.