Classic Poem

The boat drifts to rest
Under the outward spraying branches.

There is faint sound of quavering strings,
The reedy murmurs of a flute,
The soft sigh of the wind through silken garments;

All these are mingled
With the breeze that drifts away,
Filled with thin petals of cherry blossom,
Like tinkling laughter dancing away in sunlight.