Real Poetry, Is To Lead

A Weathered Skeleton In Windy Fields Of Memory, Piercing Like A Knife.

April's Air Stirs In Willow-leaves...a Butterfly Floats And Balances

Year's End Still In Straw Hat And Sandals

Sabi Is The Color Of Haikai. It Is Different From Tranquility. For Example, If An Old Man Dresses Up In Armor And Helmet And Goes To The Battlefield, Or In Colorful Brocade Kimono, Attending (his Lord) At A Banquet, [sabi] Is Like This Old Figure.

Collecting All The Rains Of May The Swift Mogami River.