Matsuo Basho

Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!

Along my journey / through this transitory world, / new year's housecleaning.

Spring rain leaking through the roof dripping from the wasps' nest.

When I speak My lips feel cold - The autumn wind.

How much I desire! Inside my little satchel, the moon, and flowers

Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling now... Waterfall music

How I long to see among dawn flowers, the face of God.

No matter where your interest lies, you will not be able to accomplish anything unless you bring your deepest devotion to it.

Summer grasses — all that remains of great soldiers' imperial dreams.