Made on Spring Days
The sake cup stashed away, half the spring has passed.
Beyond haze, string and pipe—whose house is that?
I'm unable to put on shoes, go out to seek the scent.
I watch blossoms open and fall, only in a vase.
In a small room to fall asleep and wake, what a feeling!
The vernal light hangs on, close to the “clean-bright.”
In the wind a single tree, a threadlike willow,
still too svelte to allow a warbler to perch.
Beyond haze, string and pipe—whose house is that?
I'm unable to put on shoes, go out to seek the scent.
I watch blossoms open and fall, only in a vase.
In a small room to fall asleep and wake, what a feeling!
The vernal light hangs on, close to the “clean-bright.”
In the wind a single tree, a threadlike willow,
still too svelte to allow a warbler to perch.
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