Mother,
Why is the river laughing?
Why, because the sun is tickling the river
...
Having parted with the evening glow
I meet with night.
But the angrier red clouds go nowhere
...
Sometimes I reread poems I wrote long ago
I don't ask textbook questions like "what was the author feeling when he wrote this?"
When you write a poem, there is nothing but the feeling of wanting to write a poem
...
My toes seem terribly far away
The five digits, like five complete strangers,
sit close together, coldly indifferent
...
To be in love—how does it feel?
It feels like sitting together gazing spellbound,
...
I lost an utterly trivial item.
Nothing that would trouble me greatly not to have
nor something I associate with fond memories.
...
Because music never ends,
I cannot stay here.
I walk across the sward of life
...
I went alone back to the old days.
Butterflies are fluttering under the cloudy skies of those old days.
...
I would have lived my whole life
just having loved her.
And once having died
...