all the rains of June
and one evening secretly
through the pines the moon

they spoke no words
the visitor, the host
and the white chrysanthemum

saying nothing
guest and host
and white chrysanthemum

at the candle's light
I look and yes -- there is a wind
the snow tonight...

the autumn squall
blows the eagle
over the edge of the crag

bad-tempered I got back
then in the garden
the willow-tree

from the long hallways
voices of the people rise
in the morning haze

round every house
the morning glory blooms
in the month of leaves

being chased
the fire-fly
hides in the moon

in the morning breeze
skylarks
dance straight up in the sky

against the bright full moon
a hilltop pine tree
is the image of my rebirth