Death Poem-Hojo Ujimasa

Hôjô Ujimasa 1538-1590 

  Autumn wind of eve, 

blow away the clouds that mass 

over the moon’s pure light 

and the mists that cloud our mind, 

Please sweep away as well. 

Now we disappear, 

well, what must we think of it? 

From the cosmos we came. 

Now we may go back again. 

That’s at least one point of view. 
  

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