tears due to smoke, yet
they thought that I was crying. . .
autumn leaves fall,
cranes cry,
and a tear hangs on my chin:
my years are passing. . .
let everyone think
that the smoke made me cry
a spring fly brings joy,
a summer fly harasses us;
an autumn fly brings sadness,
a winter fly surprises us.
the fly is the same,
yet how changeable our mood. . .
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