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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
Come
Butterfly
Miles
Late
Together

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From all these trees, in the salads, the soup, everywhere, cherry blossoms fall.
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An autumn night - don’t think your life didn’t matter.
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Fresh spring! / The world is only Nine days old - / These fields and mountains!
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A flute with no holes is not a flute.
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Even in Kyoto/Hearing the cuckoo's cry/I long for Kyoto
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April's air stirs in Willow-leaves...a butterfly Floats and balances
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Felling a tree and gazing at the cut end - tonight's moon
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Winter solitude- in a world of one colour the sound of the wind.
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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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Collecting all The rains of May The swift Mogami River.
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Real poetry, is to lead a beautiful life. To live poetry is better than to write it.
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The old pond, ah! A frog jumps in: The water's sound.
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the universe and its beings are a complementarity of empty infinity, intimate interrelationships, and total uniqueness of each and every being.
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The sea darkens And a wild duck s call Is faintly white.
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Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the wise. Seek what they sought.
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Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.
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A thicket of summer grass / Is all that remains / Of the dreams of ancient warriors.
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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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