old pond, a frog jumps: "plop-splash!"
Original: 古池や蛙飛びこむ水の音; Romanized: furu ike ya kawazu tobikomu mizu no oto

Eight arms
seeking eight
different states
of being.
Winding sinuously
toward eight
different ends.
Wrapping opposing
limbs around
antipodal objectives,
it risks tearing
itself in twain…
but knows better.

by the green river,
one tree prematurely
takes Fall colors.
I ventured beyond civilization, and (by man's definition) I was lost. I knew no near city, state, or nation. Who knows what backwoods borders I'd crossed? I'd drifted down streams: still and rapid tossed, and when boat filled faster than I could bale, I took to foot. Onward at any cost! I passed over mountains and through their vales, and trudged the badlands, unparted by trails. But he who's lost is often he who finds, and I learned history's forfeit details in form of ruins in a sheltered blind. Oh! What novel and beautiful sights are had by lost souls in eternal nights!