The Sea Darkens And A Wild Duck

Come, See The True Flowers Of This Pained World.

In This Poor Body, Composed Of One Hundred Bones And Nine Openings, Is Something Called Spirit, A Flimsy Curtain Swept This Way And That By The Slightest Breeze. It Is Spirit, Such As It Is, Which Led Me To Poetry, At First Little More Than A Pastime, Then The Full Business Of My Life. There Have Been Times When My Spirit, So Dejected, Almost Gave Up The Quest, Other Times When It Was Proud, Triumphant. So It Has Been From The Very Start, Never Finding Peace With Itself, Always Doubting The Worth Of What It Makes.

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

Learn About A Pine Tree From A Pine Tree, And About A Bamboo Plant From A Bamboo Plant.

This Autumn- Why Am I Growing Old? Bird Disappearing Among Clouds.