Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
MATSUO BASHOWinter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
MATSUO BASHOFelling a tree and gazing at the cut end – tonight’s moon.
MATSUO BASHOEvery moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
MATSUO BASHOSpring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps’ nest.
MATSUO BASHOCome, butterfly It’s late- We’ve miles to go together.
MATSUO BASHOBetween our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
MATSUO BASHOAll my friends / viewing the moon – / an ugly bunch.
MATSUO BASHOCollecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
MATSUO BASHOA thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
MATSUO BASHOThe journey itself is my home.
MATSUO BASHOAt the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water.
MATSUO BASHOHow much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers.
MATSUO BASHOThe oak tree: not interested in cherry blossoms.
MATSUO BASHOThe moon is brighter since the barn burned.
MATSUO BASHOAn autumn night – don’t think your life didn’t matter.
MATSUO BASHONot to think of yourself / as someone who did not count — / Festival of the Souls.
MATSUO BASHO