I saw a cat at play
out of the corner of my eye,
but when I turned to watch him,
only a shadow did I spy.
A shadow created by the leaves
of a sapling sycamore,
a shadow dancing in the wind,
that and nothing more.
There was no cat playing
as I thought there had been.
It was only the shadow of the leaves
dancing in the wind.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem