In the spring of the year following that in which the Sanjō Minister of the Right had passed away, on hearing that the Minister had summoned her, she sent this to the Prince who was father to the Ise Virgin.
ikade ka no tosigiri mo senu tane mogana aretaru yado ni uwete mirubeku
Why is it that Absent this year are not These seeds! At a ruined dwelling Planted, could they be seen…
Left and Right together state: we find no faults to mention.
In judgement: While there are such things in the heart of the mountains as ‘crags where seeds grow into pines’ (tane aru iwa ni ouru matsu), it is normally by the sea or on rocky coastlines that one finds firmly rooted pine trees. Surely, mountain pines are but lightly rooted? Cedars on River Hatsuse recollects ‘Nor will I ever; a solid brick-kiln’ (wasurezu yo kawaraya), but ‘You vowed it, did you not’ (chigirikina) also reminds me of the old phrase ‘Both our sleeves wringing out’ (katami ni sode o shiboritsutsu), which is most fine. Thus, the Right wins.
The Gentlemen of the Right state: we wonder about the appropriateness of sowing seeds beneath eaves? The Left, in appeal: why not compose a poem in this manner, given ‘even the grass seeds, forgotten’? The Left state: this seems little different from Toshiyori’s poem, ‘Beneath the eaves, my thoughts run wild / As the growing plants…’ (omoinoki yori ouru narikeri).
In judgement: both poems refer to ferns, and the conception of ‘my aged home’ (wa ga mi furuya no) and ‘my heart’s depths’ (kokoro no ne yori) both sound suitable. I make this a tie.