Miura, Kanagawa
The sun sets in, the moon runs after. As the sky darkens, the light of moon grows more bright.
Wandering around on the earth, I am blown by the wind, lapped by the waves. Changed the shape of the mind and the body, I lose something and would be polished.
The time passes, the people get old. While the lives are running out of their time, what is the thing that shines more brightly?