Yukio Mishima, Runaway Horses

Again and again, the cicada’s untiring cry pierced the sultry summer air like a needle at work on thick cotton cloth.

Again and again, the cicada’s untiring cry pierced the sultry summer air like a needle at work on thick cotton cloth.

Again and again, the cicada’s untiring cry pierced the sultry summer air like a needle at work on thick cotton cloth.

Like They Said