Classic Poem

Kuruntokai 60

On the tall hill
where the short-stemmed nightshade quivers,

a squatting cripple
sights a honey hive
above,
points to the honey,
cups his hands,
and licks his fingers:

so too,
even if one's lover
doesn't love or care,
it still feels good
inside

just to see him
now and then.