The end of spring- the poet is brooding about editors.

The spring sea rising and falling, rising and falling all day.

Grasses are misty, The waters silent- A tranquil evening.

White dew- one drop on each thorn.

I came to the flowers; I slept beneath them; this was my leisure.

In the spring rain, The pond and the river Have become one.

Young leaves The sound of a waterfall Heard from far and near.

In lantern-light My yellow Chrysanthemums Lost all their color.

In the water bucket a melon and an eggplant nodding to each other.

Throw open your window and let the scenery of clouds and sky enter your room.