poetry Kobayashi Issa, "On a branch…" An insect makes their own boat and then launches into their opera, like a Venetian gondolier.
poetry Kobayashi Issa, "Mosquito at my ear" Issa laments one of the more miserable summer experiences. A literal bloodsucker, not content with biting and stealing, makes its presence felt loudly.
poetry Kobayashi Issa, "the butterfly I passed" There are moments when we're more than we are, and they're not necessarily moments of triumphant heroism.
poetry Kobayashi Issa, "[the snow is melting]" I should say, the first time I read this poem, I thought Issa was in "grouchy old man" mode, bemoaning the noisy, shouty kids disturbing his peace.
![Kobayashi Issa, "[the snow is melting]"](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1517299321609-52687d1bc55a?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&ixid=MnwxMTc3M3wwfDF8c2VhcmNofDZ8fHNub3d8ZW58MHx8fHwxNjI2OTI1NzIy&ixlib=rb-1.2.1&q=80&w=600)