To one hundred thousand loves of hate live for one hundred years, before the reason of flowers bright. I have to realize the former ceremony was to find a way of desire. You might not like that. She finds the place scattered with flowers and paintings. The love of art for the sake of living makes one a fine man. He is also an animal, a frog or an alligator. They can live in water as well as on land. Land of shrines happens to be lion’s land. The year of heaven will be so far away from hell. The trees live a long life. They fade their tears and also dance to the tune of the breeze. Where will they go, to the east or to the north?
Mine has gone already. Have they friends in the north? Wonder. I cannot afford to go. My place is here. Though the space is limited I have a long years to life. The eagle swoops down occasionally on my pond where Lilies grow and dance and die. The crows remain the innocent black. They flew with their umbrella right into the darkness of dawn. Their voice is a sing, better than a tune of a thousand pianos, though they eat the rubbish the maid throws in the morning.