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Under a maple tree

Why is it that the tree is
tinged with red, even from spring?
The light green dream that we’ve dreamed
has never been in full bloom yet.
Holding hands, we feel the hands hot.
The maple tree looks aflame, too.

Now I am

I’m studying how to fly
more lightly than a feather.
I’m studying how to sink
more heavily than cast iron.
For the sake of human beings
I’m studying how to love.

Red plum blossoms

I wonder who’s picking up
a bowl of the moonlight.
Gushhh gusssh. The sound of water
is drenching the spring night.
On the night, too short, much too short,
the red blossoms catch my eyes.

The day when green plum blossoms bloom

When the sun is so dazzling
among sprays of green plum blossoms,
I desire to sing sweet songs
very loudly only for you,
with my mind floating across the sky
that’s as azure as it can be.

A walk to see violets

Violets are out in the sun,
like little girls of cute dimples.
Swaying a little with a big smile,
they’ve come early for spring outing.
How dazzling their fresh good looks are
with the color of violet!

Purple magnolia

The flower buds turned on bright bulbs
with an output of forty watts.
For what kind of bright springtime
are they sitting as flower lamps?
Purple lights are gazing away
through the darkness at midnight.

Rape flowers

Rape flowers bathed themselves
in sunshine and balmy winds.
With the fine look on their faces,
the flowers come out in spring.
The blue sky opens inch by inch;
O the faces wavering!

Spring mountain

A pinkish tint is carrying
the scent of spring on the good earth.
Browsing around, I’m reminded
of the back hill in my hometown.
With the face I’ve met in my dream,
I am always 15 years old

The fragrance of ume flowers whirled by the wind

This spring again, I’LL BURST OUT
into blossom in your deep heart.
JUST LIKE THE DAY of a throbbing heart,
exchanging our hot glances,
I’ll fill up every spring day
with the fragrance of white petals.

Greeting spring

Glittering in bright sunlight,
spring has come with soft steps.
When I stand in front of it,
like greeting it or wanting answers,
the young buds of red camellias
seem to whisper in my ear.