A cuckoo to
A man on Pine Mount
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Meeting is as remote as
Cloud-shrouded,
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About the dawn,
What can I say?
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This world of men
Is a hard place, is it not?
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While I gaze upon it
I feel a certain distance:
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A singular
Thing, it was, I thought, yet
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A mountain cherry
Through the drifting mists
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A dewdrop
It is not, my heart, on a flower
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Their first flowered
Home have they left,
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With no eyes to see
At all, they've scattered
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The Autumn mountains
Weave Autumn leaves
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Chrysanthemums in Autumn:
While they shine
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The white dewfall and
Showers, too, have completely
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Beneath the mighty
Gods' enclosing fence
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Alone for you Autumn
Has not come,
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Did some lodge here
And leave for a keepsake
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The Autumn wind
Blew and since that day
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The river wind
Bears a chill;
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In this endless rain
You make the very sky resound,
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With a song he tried to keep
The blossoms, yet now they're gone,
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On a summer night,
I wonder if I should to bed, and then
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Once I wet my sleeves
Scooping water
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To the fields of Kasuga
To gather fresh herbs,
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My friend
Spreads wide his cloak in a spring shower;
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Willow's branches:
Blue and twisted threads.
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Of people: one cannot
Know their hearts,
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From this year on
I'll deeply feel the spring
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In every year
Scarlet leaves flow
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In the twilit night
Of Ogura mountain,
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As the snow falls down,
Sealing in Winter
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