The autumn full moon:
All night long
I paced round the lake.
Winter seclusion:
Once again I will lean against
This post.
First winter rain:
The monkey also seems
To want a small straw cloak.
Azaleas are blooming;
In this remote mountain village
The boiled rice is white.
Happiness,
At the white face of the child
In the mosquito net.
The young leaves
Drenched in the lights
Of the tall tower.
Striking the fly,
I hit also
A flowering plant.
The autumn storm;
A prostitute shack,
At 24 cents a time.
The dead body
Of a trodden-on crab,
This autumn morning
Fallen leaves
Come flying from elsewhere:
Autumn is ending.
Having felled
A pasania tree,-
the sky of autumn.