A cold morning and the thin-clad oiran
In the courtyard stands waiting by
The giant snowball -- as tall as she is.
Though the men in the museums
Will say rude things of her, she and her friends
Are very great and, when the mood is on them,
Slanted gods. Nothing breaks her calm:
You can find her standing on a giant carp
Reading a letter or drowsing on a flying boat,
The sixth among the Seven Fortunate Gods.
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