The crickets are chirping.
Tonight is a cold night with frost.
I lay only one sleeve of my kimono on the floor.
I will probably sleep alone again tonight.
518
In my garden, there are so many fallen leaves that people can’t walk through it.
I’m not waiting for anyone to come.
534
I stayed up all night.
I cried, sad to say goodbye to autumn.
My tears wet the sleeves of my kimono.
In the morning the dew on my sleeves had turned into frost and frozen.
Has winter come?
551
I like the Shin Kokin Wakashu the best among all poetry collections. The world of poetry is a virtual reality. Poets are not writing about reality. But they are not writing about fiction either.
That is what is most appealing about the Shin Kokin Wakashu to me.
