THE swallow flees. The twilight falls apace. The swallow flees, and the hawk follows. The moon is sparkling on the pond's chill face, and in its image drowns itself the swallow.

Why should the reeds around the lakes behave as though they cared for living or for dying? It is not for the reeds the hawk is crying.- And grief fades like a wrinkle on the wave.

translated by Jethro Bithell