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   MY RELIGION  

  
   The rain is falling,
   Like a woman from the west,
   Like a philosophy from the east,
   Like time in a mountain hermitage.

   Is there really a God?
   The thought brushes through my mind.
   Rain clouds the windscreen.
   I have no answer.

   When I was a student in Tokyo
   I thought about death
   But never about God.

   If there is a God, there is;
   If not, there's not.
   Dim fog, dim presentiment.
   I live the dim non-existence
   Of a dim hazy today,
   Secure only in the belief
   That mother lives in the other world.

   Perhaps this is my religion.
   When age and loneness and the great return trip
   Are over, I'll go to mother's side:

   Today, too, the road to work
   Winds toward the east,
   And on the clouded windscreen
   Rain, rain, rain,

   Like a woman from the west,
   Like a philosophy from the east,
   Like time in a mountain hermitage.
  
    
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¡ä ´ÙÀ½±Û: Á¶º´È­ ¼ø¼ö°íµ¶ ¼ø¼öÇ㹫 Á¦413È£ ¹«´õ¿î ¿©¸§¹ã
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