I will tell you not to approach
the beauty of Mashu closely.
You will be attacked by stiff shoulders,
headache and dead drunkenness after all.
　

Under the twilight of Akan Mountains lies
an ensemble of lines, volumes and colors.
　

Duplicating on my mind the ideas
accumulated by the ancients,
I am looking at the blooming sakura.

When sakura blooms at the ridge of Sayama,
the mediaeval metaphore should be briefly ruminated.
　

Point the finger to the direction where
the Lake Kusshaeo is there,
the air is smoky, we can not see.
Huge is the cloud over the Mihoro Pass.