A fast-running brook bubbles over pale blue stones, crosscutting
The landscape from the distant mountains to the thinning forest.
White camellias float downstream;
First one, and then a group of three, then a dozen.
Tanaka dozes in the shade offered by the pines,
Unaware of the drifting flowers in the stream.
A naked sword by his hip,
Is just one sign that he’d been drinking sake.
His haggard appearance to passerby,
Would lend credence to the rumor that he is a thief.
He holds a letter tight in his fist.
It is not a letter of confession but one of indictment.
The smell of summer’s departure is thick and sweet.
The serenity of the scene is broken by the trilling of a Hegura-jima.
Tanaka stirs in his sleep,
Stretching his muscles slightly, and wakes.
He stumbles over to the brook, in his hand his lover’s letter.
With a sad expression on his face, he throws it in with the camellias,
Watching it flow
Alongside the flowers, until out of sight.