1
New Year rain.
Geese fly
since the time of the gods.
What to do
on this cold morning?
Have the day
the same taste of the night.
Drink sake the traveler.
2
Spills the Buddha
slush essences.
I go to the bonfire
and I ask myself:
—Is the end near?
No cold by the fire.
In the middle of the night
crosses the snow.
The smell of the pot
go through the door.
I approach the window.
I guess
the shivering of the hedges.
3
After the sober screen,
dark, the forest.
White deucias
accompany me.
In this hard winter
the moon also bloomed.
Several months of snow,
in the morning the pine trees yawn.
The sun retired long ago,
my heart ages.
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