Basho died while visiting friends in Osaka. He wrote:
Taken ill on a journey,
my dreams wander
over withered moors.
Aitken Roshi, in The River of Heaven, suggests this was not Basho’s death poem. Apparently, when asked for a death poem, Basho said:
From old times it has been customary to leave a death poem behind, and perhaps I should do the same. But every moment of life is the last; every poem is a death poem. Why then should I write one at this time? In these last hours, I have no poem.
What is your poem in this moment?
108zenbooks 
How can I help you?
In this very moment
Be content
Be open
Be Brave
Just Be
All of a sudden
It feels like
Something is actually
going to happen.
No way……
The direction that I am going in,
in the present moment,
is my path…
Everything that arises,
everything that is presented
is my path…
Follow the directionless path,
the path that leads to nowhere –
the present moment…
dusk descends
the last bird chirps sharply
time to go to bed!
I guess I have two phrases that I use that encapsulate it all.
‘Leaves fall.’ I use it on every blog post/e-mail.
‘I am here.’
Amazing! Amazing!
Deep bow with a sunny red poppy from my garden to all of you!