This autumn-
why am I growing old?
bird disappearing among clouds.
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Winter solitude-
in a world of one colour
the sound of the wind.
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Sitting quietly, doing nothing, Spring comes, and the grass grows, by itself.
Matsuo BashōHarvest moon:
around the pond I wander
and the night is gone.
Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise; seek what they sought.
Matsuo BashōMots clés wisdom
Winter garden,
the moon thinned to a thread,
insects singing.
Sadly, I part from you;
Like a clam torn from its shell,
I go, and autumn too.
The journey itself is my home.
Matsuo BashōMots clés travel
The moon and sun are travelers through eternity. Even the years wander on. Whether drifting through life on a boat or climbing toward old age leading a horse, each day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
Matsuo BashōReal poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
Matsuo BashōMots clés poetry
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