The designers set out clear principles: simple and dignified, large enough to hold many people for memorial events, and not tied to any one religious style. Landscape designer Tsuyoshi Tamura chose a Japanese approach that is simple, pure and solemn. All the materials are domestic, and the trees are species associated with the Musashino plain. Most are evergreens, with few flowering trees. The paving stones of the plaza come from Nebukawa in Izu and are laid irregularly so the ground blends with nature. Straight lines tie it all together, and ornate Western-style decoration is avoided. There is almost no writing here. Choosing words and an author for an inscription proved too difficult, so the only markers are stones at the two entrances. The front bears the cemetery's name in the hand of Prime Minister Kishi. The back records the completion date in the hand of Health Minister Sakata. Kishi's stone uses an older variant of the character for fuchi, the word for deep water or pool. To the left of the pavilion stands a granite monument carved with a poem Emperor Showa gave in the autumn of 1959. It runs roughly: when I think of those who gave their lives for the country, my heart is filled with emotion. Princess Chichibu Setsuko wrote out the calligraphy, and the monument was unveiled on March 28, 1960, the cemetery's first anniversary.