Do not lend yourself to overcast and the rainy,
come round please, the lawn has been shooting up already.
The camellia gets amorous and reddish
to cause the businessman's unbending heart to be moving.
The willow branches are in full bud, and to be dense or light,
it has nothing to do with taking leave of. There is a grove of trees,
a lake there. The wind has thousands of forms of dissension,
unlike us all with a long face every day. A bee has more happiness
than a great politician─now, though there has only one person
holding up his laudatory camera lens there,
which is facing its buttock appearing on the pistil.
A lakefront alcove; a young man from back holding a girl.
The girl is looking as far as she can.
The silhouette catches the goodliness,
like the lake, like peach branches, and like our past first love.
Nothing is a grief to me. It should remain with sights blocked by
high walls, fish under waves, with dwelling stars watched by
the dawn. It maybe also remains with the green and weariness
bred in overcast and the rainy.
Don't always complain like a
cat in a vacant room. Get to a mountain range to call out
that the world has already completely been different.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem