This place grows thin,
a lack of love and
there’s nothing to write about.
In the winter wind,
two hands held tightly.
Can I cling to one such as you?
Come, let’s go
In other places
plums are blossoming.
Flowers offered to the Buddha
This place grows thin,
a lack of love and
there’s nothing to write about.
In the winter wind,
two hands held tightly.
Can I cling to one such as you?
Come, let’s go
In other places
plums are blossoming.
A Wandering Poet 