Why So Scrawny, Cat? Starving For Fat

Nothing In The Cry Of Cicadas Suggests They Are About To Die

How Much I Desire! Inside My Little Satchel, The Moon, And Flowers

Around Existence Twine, (oh, Bridge That Hangs Across The Gorge!) Ropes Of Twisted Vine.

Seek Not The Paths Of The Ancients; Seek That Which The Ancients Sought.

A Thicket Of Summer Grass / Is All That Remains / Of The Dreams Of Ancient Warriors.