I wrote down my youthful years, but unfortunately the ink was faded. I didn't write about the future I could expect, nor the debauchery. I traveled to the mountains and seas all my life, soaked in the maple leaves in the forest and the fishy salt in the sea. I wrote about the years like a fleeting time. The world is not just about the present, of course, there are also poems and distant places.
Intention: Youth