Face of the spring moon- about twelve years old, I’d say.
Never forget: we walk on hell, gazing at flowers.
Here I’m here- the snow falling.
O snail, Climb Mount Fuji, But slowly, slowly!
In the cherry blossom’s shade there’s no such thing as a stranger.
In spring rain a pretty girl yawning.
The world of dew is the world of dew. And yet, and yet –.
Even in warmest glow how cold my shadow.
All the time I pray to Buddha I keep on killing mosquitoes.
Red morning sky – snail, are you glad of it?
Dry creek glimpsed by lightning.
Reflected in the dragonfly’s eye – mountains.
Don’t weep, insects – Lovers, stars themselves, Must part.
Where there are humans, You’ll find flies, And Buddhas.
Not gifted with genius but honestly holding his experiences deep in his heart, he kept his simplicity and humanity.
Moon, plum blossoms, this, that, and the day goes.
Listen, all creeping things, the bell of transience.
Carrying a poppy he passes through the quarrel.
There is no stranger under the cherry tree.
Even with insects – some can sing, some can’t.