There is nothing you can see that is not a flower; there is nothing you can think that is not the moon.
Harvest moon: around the pond I wander and the night is gone.
All my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers
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