I wrote down my youth, but the ink color was faded, I could not write the future, nor could I write about debauchery, so I ran to the mountains and seas all my life, stained with maple leaves in the forest, stained with salty sea,

I wrote down the youth, but the ink color was faded, I could not write the future, nor could I write the debauchery, so I ran to the mountains and seas all my life, stained with maple leaves in the forest, stained with salty salt in the sea, and wrote down this like water flowing years, the world is not only in front of me, of course, there are poems and distant places

"After stopping writing, I yearn for the bright sun in the morning light, looking at its restraint, my heart is full of joy, after resigning from the past years, the words that can be expected in the future are often heard, and I calculate in the days to come, in the dappled and magnificent time, reading poetry and far away"