In winter,
i wished for spring.
now it is spring,
what will I wish for in summer?
Daffodils
newly come
but trees still bare;
yellow seems incongruous.
Early spring
was always thus?
seems strange time
when birdsong brighter than sky.
Grass already green,
winds still blow,
daffodils bend
but yellow for me is not yet hope.
Under cloud,
i do not believe.
under sun; summer will come:
trees green and no leaves underfoot.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment