before the gate –my walking stick’s made a riverof melting snow

Hi! My little hutIs newly-thatched I see…Blue morning-glories

In the city fields Contemplating cherry-trees…Strangers are like friends

Arise from sleep, old cat,And with great yawns and stretchings…Amble out for love

O snailClimb Mount FujiBut slowly, slowly!

What a strange thing!to be alivebeneath cherry blossoms.

Where there are humans, You’ll find flies,And Buddhas.

Never forget:we walk on hell,gazing at flowers.

Don’t kill!…The fly is asking youTo save his lifeBy rubbing his hands together

In the cherry blossom’s shadethere’s no such thingas a stranger.

On the Death of his ChildDew Evaporates And all our world is dew…so dear, So fresh, so fleeting

Summer night–even the starsare whispering to each other.

HereI’m here-the snow falling.