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Come, butterfly It's late- We've miles to go together.

Matsuo Basho

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Matsuo Basho
Age: 50 †
Born: 1644
Born: January 1
Died: 1694
Died: November 28
Artist
Poet
Writer
Vaxjo
Matsuo Basho
Bashō
Bashô
Basho
Matsuo Bashou
Late
Together
Come
Butterfly
Miles

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I felt quite at home, / As if it were mine sleeping lazily / In this house of fresh air.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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Ballet in the air... Twin butterflies until, twice white They Meet, they mate
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Come, see the true flowers of this pained world.
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Make the universe your companion, always bearing in mind the true nature of things-mountains and rivers, trees and grasses, and humanity-and enjoy the falling blossoms and the scattering leaves.
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Orchidbreathing incense into butterfly's wings
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Nothing in the cry of cicadas suggests they are about to die
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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Seek on high bare trails Sky-reflecting violets... Mountain-top jewels
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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First snow-falling-on the half-finished bridge.
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The temple bell stops but I still hear the sound coming out of the flowers.
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My body, now close to fifty years of age, has become an old tree that bears bitter peaches, a snail which has lost its shell, a bagworm separated from its bag it drifts with the winds and clouds that know no destination. Morning and night I have eaten traveler's fare, and have held out for alms a pilgrim's wallet.
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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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A weathered skeleton in windy fields of memory, piercing like a knife.
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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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Without bitterest cold that penetrates to the very bone, how can plum blossoms send forth their fragrance all over the world?
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He who creates three to five haiku poems during a lifetime is a haiku poet. He who attains to completes ten is a master.
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Every moment of life is the last, every poem is a death poem.
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