by Sakutaro Hagiwara
Drat that snatch-thief dog,
He howls at the moon from the rotting pier.
When the soul pricks up its ears,
It hears the shrill girls choiring,
With their gloomy voices,
By the somber stone wall out at the pier.
Why is it always this way
Listen, you dog, you.
Tell me, you pale-blue, unhappy dog, you.
Last updated January 14, 2019