First Snow-falling-on The Half-finished Bridge.

Not To Think Of Yourself / As Someone Who Did Not Count -- / Festival Of The Souls.

When I Speak My Lips Feel Cold - The Autumn Wind.

A Thicket Of Summer Grass / Is All That Remains / Of The Dreams Of Ancient Warriors.

Seek On High Bare Trails Sky-reflecting Violets... Mountain-top Jewels

Real Poetry, Is To Lead A Beautiful Life. To Live Poetry Is Better Than To Write It.