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Long ago, there was a poet named Tōroku. Finding a humble house with no one at home, he slipped inside and began scooping food from a pot on the fire and eating it. Just then, the woman of the house returned from the main road, carrying water she had drawn. Seeing him helping himself, she said, “What are you doing, eating like that in someone’s house when no one is home? How dreadful! Why, it’s Tōroku! Well then, compose a poem for me.” And so he recited: “Since ancient times, by Amida Buddha’s vow, whatever simmers shall be scooped up and saved—or so I understand.”