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On spring fields there was only snow
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I don't want to take a beautiful bud,' said the god
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Bright moon: on the straw mat
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The Bright moon: a crab
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I peer into quietness
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Having eaten fish
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A Fir stands sveltely under the moon
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I don't think you are like everyone else
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No soothing time for someone who thinks of blossoms
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'I must go now, goodbye,' said the god of night
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