While my little boat moves on its mooring of mist, And daylight wanes, old memories begin.... How wide the world was, how close the trees to heaven, And how clear in the water the nearness of the moon!
I had so long been troubled by official hat and robe That I am glad to be an exile here in this wild southland. I am a neighbour now of planters and reapers.
From the airport to the train station and bus station Myriad people emerge Crazily they throw themselves at the city Seeping with anger into the ground like dirty water, splattered But I enter its night, walking