I started today with the autumnal falling,
When spring was left on the opposite side
Of the torrent -- the rapid flowing of life.
This span I have to divide into eight spaces
As 8x8 results in the masculine potential.

I've returned to one of the starting points
From where the rapids are brimming over
In full vigor to slide again along the way
Of lines and stanzas -- they weave my day.

The skilful thoughts arouse up feelings --
Roll them out and rumple without regret.
This is what I'm usually doing for living,
Putting words in handiwork of grinding
Where the living of images is at millstone.

In this 'fair game' one who puts an image
Appropriately with others at the same stake
Will go out of the canvas, changing the view
And, alas, burning the image to a frazzle.

I will wave to the burnt out characters,
Bidding them farewell, but what is left
On the opposite side of the lifetime river
Are the words, lines, and verses which
Are streaming, bubbling, and ringing clearly
Throughout the scenes and acts of my play.