Here I am, a lazy old man. Normally I find it so bothersome to have people coming to see me that I often vow in my heart, " I'll never meet or invite people. " But what can I do? — on a moonlit night or in the snowy morning I long for my friends. At such a time, quietly I drink sake alone, talking in my mind. I push open the door of my hut and look at the snow. I take up my cup again, dip my brush and put it away. Here I am, a demented old man:
I drink sake and find it harder to sleep this snowy night