Haiga Archive

How lonely it is!
even lonelier than Suma,
autumn at this beach.

Night of the full moon!
the weather in the north land
is so uncertain.

How pure the moonlight
on the sand before the shrine
brought by Pilgrim-priests

I scribbled something,
planning to tear up my fan—
but parting was sad!

All through the night
I listened to the autumn wind
in the hills behind

Today I shall wipe out
the words written in my hat
with the dew of tears

At Yamanaka
no need to pick chrysanthemums—
the scent of hot springs