In an old clay pot
 
some violas keep blooming—
 
April slips away.

 
 

No one seems to mind
 
that, along with planet Earth,
 
April’s ending soon.

 
 

Had April not come,
 
I would have missed the fragrance
 
of cherry blossoms.

 
 

What’s left of April,
 
a few more days without rain,
 
will soon pass away.

 
 

walking in a way
 
that others have rejected—
 
April solitude

 
 

April settles down
 
on a mountain with no name
 
as if for a nap.

 
 

A plum tree blossoms
 
beside an unpainted house—
 
April solitude.

 
 

In the April dusk
 
a little boy is weeping
 
for his lost puppy.

 
 

On my apple tree
 
a brilliant goldfinch perches—
 
April solitude.

 
 

A little boy sobs,
 
cradling his crushed dragon kite—
 
April loneliness.