Late at night, listening to the winter rain Recalling my youth — Was it only a dream? Was I really young once? - Ryōkan

See and realize that this world is not permanent. Neither late nor early flowers will remain.

When all thoughts
Are exhausted
I slip into the woods
And gather
A pile of shepherd's purse.

Like the little stream
Making its way
Through the mossy crevices
I, too, quietly
Turn clear and transparent.

The water of the valley stream Never shouts at the tainted world: “Purify yourself!” But naturally, as it is, Shows how it is done.