In April in the lunar calendar in this early summer,
the trace of the wind was growing the green plants.
And during the great distance,
the daytime was still cool.
To some extent,
a wind bell was ringing out.
And one thousand Rhododendron kaempferi flowers
had nice fragrance.
I passed the street in which the trees with fresh verdure were planted,
then I reached the Buddhist temple that was pure place.
In the silent garden,
I was getting rid of my unclean spirit that was prosaic.
And in the old and large building,
I was worshipping Amitabha.
In front of my father’s grave,
I let it know that the changings of the things of the world were fast.
And toward Heaven, I was ashamed of my long period
when I fell into reduced circumstances and I was desolated.
Thinking about the precept of my deceased father for me,
and thinking about the poetry of the Ancient Chinese Poetry,
it was already evening.
Masaya Samura (pen name: Gensai Shirakawa) in Osaka, Japan
at May 7, 2017 (for May 6)