Cock crowing.
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Winter garden,
insects singing.Translated by Robert Hass
The squid seller’s call
of the cuckoo.Translated by Robert Hass
Tremble, oh my gravemound,
only this autumn wind
Staying at an inn
bush clover and the moon.Translated by Robert Hass
None is travelling
This autumn evening.The first day of the year:thoughts come – and there is loneliness;the autumn dusk is here.An old pondA frog jumps in –Splash!Lightening –Heron’s cryStabs the darknessClouds come from time to time –and bring to men a chance to restfrom looking at the moon.In the cicada’s cryThere’s no sign that can foretellHow soon it…
bush-clover flowers —
their beads of dew