Winter garden, the moon thinned to a thread, insects singing.
For this lovely bowl let us arrange these flowers since there is no rice.
I am one who eats breakfast gazing at morning glories.
Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.
Sabi is the color of haikai. It is different from tranquility. For example, if an old man dresses up in armor and helmet and goes to the battlefield, or in colorful brocade kimono, attending (his lord) at a banquet, [sabi] is like this old figure.
Farewell, my old fan. / Having scribbled on it, / What could I do but tear it / At the end of summer?
The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
Just washed, How chill The white leeks!
Now the swinging bridge Is quieted with creepers ... Like our tendrilled life.
Clapping my hands with the echoes the summer moon begins to dawn.
O cricket from your cherry cry
No one would ever guess
How quickly you must die.
Around existence twine, (Oh, bridge that hangs across the gorge!) ropes of twisted vine.
Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
On a bare branch a crow is perched - autumn evening
I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
Not to think of yourself / as someone who did not count -- / Festival of the Souls.
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
Friends part foreverwild geese lost in cloud
From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
At the ancient pond the frog plunges into the sound of water
Don't imitate me / we are not two halves / of a muskmelon.
Old pond, leap-splash - a frog.
The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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