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Counting the dewdrops that vie in falling off
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A Short night — outside the window bamboo rustles
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Deep in the mountains, through the pine door closed
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Sleeping, wanting to have the past that does not return
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Evening mists in the depths of my heart
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String of beads, if you must break, break
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First day starts, and "All's changed," The
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Summer night — little time to see the crescent moon decline
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For a moment we lay in the village of Fushimi
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Though the shining sun is clearly of the summer sky
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