I'm ashamed, with this set of discordant bones,
to be lingering still between heaven and earth.
Who told you of my sudden turn for the worse,
troubled you to come journeying across lake and hill?
You rowed the waves from Yabase landing,
in wind palanquined over Osaka barrier.
An old man with nothing but tears
greets you, but can't seem to manage a smile.

Ile write, because Ile give
You Criticks means to live:
For sho'd I not supply
The Cause, th'effect wo'd die.

Wrap me up in my tarpaulin jacket
And say a poor buffer lies low, lies low;
And six stalwart lancers shall carry me
With steps mournful, solemn, and slow.
I know I shan't get to Heaven,
And I don't want to go below-ow-ow —
Oh, ain't there some place in between them
Where this poor buffer can go?

If you should meet a crocodile,
Don't take a stick and poke him;
Ignore the welcome in his smile,
Be careful not to stroke him.
For as he sleeps upon the Nile,
He thinner gets and thinner;
And whene'er you meet a crocodile
He's ready for his dinner.

If you find a paddling pool,
Dabble your toes to make them cool.
Splash! Splash! Splash!
Kick up your feet and scatter the spray,
Oh what fun for a bright sunny day!
Splash! Splash! Splash!

If you ever, ever, ever meet a grizzly bear,
You must never, never, never ask him where
He is going,
Or what he is doing;
For if you ever, ever dare
To stop a grizzly bear,
You will never meet another grizzly bear.

If you don't come to the mountains in autumn
you will never know the grandeur of the autumn scene.
Here are dried up riverbeds, filled with skinny rocks,
trees shedding leaves, revealing mountains underneath.
Wind-swept rain, like dancing dragons in pairs;
the traveler's heart, alone, between the sky and earth…
Early morning cold—impossible to sleep;
the temple bell echoes across the western peak.

The Arhat has left the dust, no more desire.
Playful games at the brothel, so much desire.
This one is bad, this one is good.
The monk's skill. Devil-Buddha desire.

If ye will with Mab find grace,
Set each Platter in his place:
Rake the Fire up, and get
Water in, ere Sun be set.
Wash your Pailes, and clense your Dairies;
Sluts are loathsome to the Fairies:
Sweep your house: Who doth not so,
Mab will pinch her by the toe.

The temples are wealthy but the Gozan are declining;
there are only false masters, there are no true masters.
I would like to pick up a pole and become a fisherman,
but these days, on the lakes and seas, a contrary wind blows.