I'm more than seventy-four, and lucky
to be here at home, New Year - marvelous
to see the world reborn, though my house is poor
in all but books. Spring gardens, bamboos
blooming, house empty but for one
long clean chair, one bright window.
Who's right? Who's wrong? Who cares?
I only laugh at my own simple-mindedness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem