I have been a prisoner in the red house for some months now
When I say that I am imprisoned I play with the truth
As I am a roaming poet
A master of Haiku
My every comfort is looked after with a great attention to my needs
Meals are brought to me three times a day
By a maiden who crosses the five stepping stones
Without a care for her own safety
She then stays with me and copies my poems down
On to the leaves of indigenous plants
I have been told that I am required to write one thousand and three haiku poems
Before I will be allowed to leave with my amanuensis
With a sharpened bamboo pole for our protection
I doubt if I will ever leave this paradise
As I have written less than a score of poems so far
And will be vacant and enfeebled
By the time that I reach the number of poems required
I have not written a single word for many days
Preferring to sit on the narrow red veranda
Drinking the wine of the pink dragonflies
And engaging in meaningless conversations
With the creatures that share my scented pond