Mixed in moving spring, the summer
Is dearly staring lights of the night,
And entirely reaching moon
All for sheer delight by gentle wind,
Just that beauty.
Dad once upon,
When the frogs' fill in village,
Burned not in asleep, cried
"Thee!
May the mouthes be yours,
Though do not bother others,
For drinking away the tired,
Lest we're in bed not for long."
Attending the fest
With no boredom of the song
Is sheer fed up on sighing times.