Year's End, All Corners Of This Floating

Breaking The Silence Of An Ancient Pond, A Frog Jumped Into Water - A Deep Resonance.

Winter Solitude- In A World Of One Colour The Sound Of The Wind.

I Hope To Have Gathered To Repay Your Kindness The Willow Leaves Scattered In The Garden.

My Body, Now Close To Fifty Years Of Age, Has Become An Old Tree That Bears Bitter Peaches, A Snail Which Has Lost Its Shell, A Bagworm Separated From Its Bag; It Drifts With The Winds And Clouds That Know No Destination. Morning And Night I Have Eaten Traveler's Fare, And Have Held Out For Alms A Pilgrim's Wallet.

Sitting Quietly, Doing Nothing, Spring Comes, And The Grass Grows, By Itself.