Now the swinging bridge Is quieted with creepers ... Like our tendrilled life.
Contributed by: Zaady
When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
O cricket from your cherry cry No one would ever guess How quickly you must die.
Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
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