Kobayashi Issa

Under the evening moon the snail is stripped to the waist.

The snow is melting and the village is flooded with children.

On a branch floating downriver a cricket, singing.

Mosquito at my ear— does he think I’m deaf?

Goes out, comes back— the love life of a cat.

Even with insects— some can sing, some can’t.

All the time I pray to Buddha I keep on killing mosquitoes.