Eaten alive by lice and fleas - now the horse beside my pillow pees

Like the buck's antlers, we point in slightly different directions, my friend

I still want to see in blossoms at dawn the face of the mountain god

Hearing they eat snakes, it's unnerving to listen to the pheasant's cry

Buried under moss and ivy leaves, but from within the tomb, a faint prayer

Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die

The morning glories ignore our drinking party and burst into bloom

In the fish market, from among the little shrimps, a cricket sings

A rolling cloud - like a dog pissing on the run - dense winter showers

Every New Year Day - again the monkey wears a monkey mask