The darkness deepens—
 
I write some Christmas haiku
 
and then a sonnet.

 
 
 

Into the abyss
 
everything that breathes must fall—
 
winter, O winter!

 
 
 

rainy autumn day—
 
reading obituaries
 
as I sip my tea

 
 
 

Countless other paths,
 
but I decide on this one:
 
snowy plum blossoms.

 
 
 

Early morning rain—
 
all my plans evaporate
 
as a desert stream.

 
 
 

From a third-floor flat,
 
the fragrance of hot chocolate
 
trickles down the stairs.

 
 
 

Unexpected rain
 
drenches kids en route to school—
 
spring melancholy.

Road

 
 
 

Eighth day of the year—
 
a road in the wilderness
 
opens before me.

Cemetery

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
the children’s cemetery
 
sports a fresh, new grave.

Children

 
 
 

You know how it is
 
when the children dance and sing—
 
even oaks bow down.