Classical Poetry of Kyoto

At Arashiyama, autumn's brocade Surrenders to the will of gods— How sorrowful, this scattering of leaves

In the storm-swept garden, petals fall like snow— but it is not the blossoms aging here, it is I who am growing old.

On this spring day, bathed in gentle light from the eternal sky—why do the blossoms fall with such restless haste?

As evening descends upon Ogura's slopes, the deer cry out their longing— tonight, surely, marks autumn's deepest hour.

On this hasty journey, I bring no offerings— yet behold Mount Tamuke's maple brocade! May the gods accept these crimson leaves instead.

From ancient Nara's storied capital, the double cherry blossoms arrive— today perfuming the Imperial palace with their grace.

I cast my sorrows into summer's flowing stream, yet standing here brings no relief— how cruel, not knowing where the precious one has gone.

No one remains who might speak words of pity— And so I fade away, My life dissolving into nothingness.

The cricket's lonely cry on this frost-laden night— I spread my robe alone upon the cold mat, wondering if I shall sleep without you

Share with me this tender sorrow, O mountain cherry in bloom— For besides your flowers, I have no one who knows my heart.