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