On the twenty-fourth night of the twelfth month, Buson lay dying. He dictated to his friend and student, Kitō:

[^1]: That is, me! If you like this translation, feel free to use it. Just credit me. Also link here if you can.

This was Buson's death poem—in fact, the last of three death poems. He knew he wasn't going to live to see the plum blossoms, the heralds of spring, but he chose them as his final image. Beyond the surface image of winter giving way to spring, the transition from darkness into light echoes the teachings of Pure Land Buddhism, which Buson followed. In that tradition, death is not an end but a rebirth in the Western Paradise, a peaceful realm where one can pursue enlightenment without distraction. A Buddhist heaven, in other words.

This resonance deepens when you consider that alongside the plum blossoms, the other quintessential harbinger of spring in Japan is the bush warbler (鶯, uguisu), a lovely bird with a distinctive song that, to Japanese ears, sounds likeho—hokekyō.

hoー（high pitch）・ho-ke（middle pitch）・kyō（falling pitch)

That call—ho—hokekyō—phonetically mirrors the opening line of the Lotus Sutra (法華経). Though the resemblance is coincidental, it’s close enough to stand out. As such, the bush warbler is not only a messenger of spring, but also a voice of Buddhist truth.

The Lotus Sutra held special importance for Buson’s sect, in part for its references to the Pure Land. With this in mind, the image in his haiku—the pale plum blossoms and the light of dawn—can also be seen as a vision of transition, of rebirth into the paradise that lies beyond this world.

Plum Blossoms (梅, ume) are a kigo (season word) for spring.