black
grey
blue
red
brown
white

Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.

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I hope to have gathered To repay your kindness The willow leaves Scattered in the garden.
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Garden Hope Kindness Pay
Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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The haiku that reveals seventy to eighty percent of its subject is good. Those that reveal fifty to sixty percent, we never tire of.
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