A fly in the winter, by the deceased, there is.
A love child have recoated one more color of manicure on her finger's nails.
Under sugegasa, a kind of Japanese conical Asian hat, the eyes are shining brighter in gold.
Algae grow thickly we can see, flogs make sounds we can hear, spring might have come.
A folded paper crane I makes for drinking myself as a side dish, a fly stayed on a small dish.