Man's end, a mound of gleaming bones: a flowering and a fading. Mi no hate wa shari no hikari ya hanagokoro Hamei 12.26.1837 death poem
Placitas open space, spiral!
My six and seventy years are through. I was born, I am not dead. Clouds floating on the high wide skies The moon curves through its million-mile course. Yakuo Tokuken 5.19.1320 death poem
