tree, sleeve touching sleeve of our garments, whereon rest fallen leaves shaken down by the shore-wind asking their news of the firs.
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Tomonari (spoken). While waiting for some of the villagers to appear, an old man and an old woman have come hither. I pray you, old people, permit me to ask you a question.
Old Man. It is I whom you address? What is it you desire to know?
Tomonari. Which is the tree that is called the fir-tree of Takasago?
Old Man. This very tree whose shade we are cleansing is the fir-tree of Takasago.
Tomonari. The phrase "growing old together" is used of the Takasago and Suminoye fir-trees. But this place and Sumiyoshi [the same as Suminoye] are in provinces distant from one another. How then can they be called the fir-trees which "grow old together"?
Old Man. As you have deigned to observe, it is stated in the preface to the Kokinshiu[1] that the fir-trees of Takasago and Suminoye make us feel as if they were growing old together. However that may be, here am I, an old man, who belong to Sumiyoshi, in the province of Settsu, while the old woman here is of this place. Be pleased to tell me, if you can, how that may be.
Tomonari (in verse). Strange! I see you old couple here together. What mean you then by saying that you dwell apart, one in distant Suminoye, the other in Takasago, divided from one another by seashore, hill, and province?
Old Woman (in verse). What an odd speech! Though many a mile of mountain and river separate them, the way of a husband and wife whose hearts respond to one another with mutual care, is not far apart.
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Old Woman. There is Suminoye.
Old Man. And here is Takasago.
Tomonari. The fir-trees blend their hues.
