Spring rain conveyed under the trees in drops.
Poverty's child - he starts to grind the rice, and gazes at the moon.
The moon is brighter since the barn burned.
Between our two lives there is also the life of the cherry blossom.
Traveler's heart. Never settled long in one place. Like a portable fire.
When composing a verse let there not be a hair's breath separating your mind from what you write; composition of a poem must be done in an instant, like a woodcutter felling a huge tree or a swordsman leaping at a dangerous enemy.