I wear the
clothes that my wife
cleaned in the clear water
and ironed, and
go out into the world.

The wind blows,
the dust rises,
the snow and rains come ­
the chatter of the masses
in the dark world.

With a clear heart,
the collar that should be clean
becomes stained with dirt.

With a heart like a gold flower,
I go out
and I return with wrinkled laundry.
O my every day!

Once again today
in the sky,
a line of clouds
washed by the morning dew
hangs whitely,
like the calico that has been faded
by my mother’s touch.