by Yosa Buson
Early summer rain-
houses facing the river,
two of them
Washing the hoe-
ripples on the water;
far off, wild ducks.
A summer river being crossed
how pleasing
with sandals in my hands!
Straw sandal half sunk
in an old pond
in the sleety snow.
Calligraphy of geese
against the sky-
the moon seals it.
Light of the moon
Moves west, flowers' shadows
Creep eastward.
My arm for a pillow,
I really like myself
under the hazy moon.
Not quite dark yet
and the stars shining
above the withered fields.
In the moonlight,
The color and scent of the wisteria
Seems far away.
The end of spring--
the poet is brooding
about editors.
Blown from the west,
fallen leaves gather
in the east.
Old well,
a fish leaps-
dark sound.
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