Of the drums, to draw its outlines, difficult to me it is.
On spring snow, one of the sticks, through the center. Or, on the Lunar New Year, one of the sticks, through the center.
At a timer, needless it's to, looking hard.
On spring bright and beautiful, on her knee tumbling down, kimchi stays.
Against a woman with ohaguro, to rest his lips, a man suffering his headache.