On the temple’s great bronze gong
a butterfly
snoozes.
―Yosa Buson
In an ancient well
fish leap for mosquitoes,
a dark sound.
―Yosa Buson
A kite floats
at the same place in the sky
where yesterday it floated ...
―Yosa Buson
Picking autumn plums
my wrinkled hands
once again grow fragrant
―Yosa Buson
A silk robe, casually discarded,
exudes fragrance
into the darkening evening
―Yosa Buson
An evening breeze:
water lapping the heron’s legs.
―Yosa Buson
Intruder!
This white plum tree
was once outside our fence!
―Yosa Buson
Tender grass
forgetful of its roots
the willow
―Yosa Buson
Since I'm left here alone,
I'll make friends with the moon.
―Yosa Buson
The hood-wearer
in his self-created darkness
misses the harvest moon
―Yosa Buson
As the whale
dives
its tail gets taller!
―Yosa Buson
Plowing,
not a single bird sings
in the mountain's shadow
―Yosa Buson
In the lingering heat
of an abandoned cowbarn
only the sound of the mosquitoes is dark.
―Yosa Buson
Dew-damp grass:
the setting sun’s tears
―Yosa Buson
Our life here on earth:
to what shall we compare it?
Perhaps to a rowboat
departing at daybreak,
leaving no trace of us in its wake?
—Takaha Shugyo
The legs of the cranes
have been shortened
by the summer rains.
―Matsuo Basho
A bee emerging
from deep within the peony’s hairy recesses
flies off heavily, sated
―Basho
A crow has settled
on a naked branch―
autumn nightfall
―Basho
A solitary crow
clings to a leafless branch:
autumn twilight
―Matsuo Basho
Winter solitude:
a world awash in white,
the sound of the wind
―Matsuo Basho
Sick of its autumn migration
my spirit drifts
over wilted fields ...
―Matsuo Basho
