Our conversation,
 
scented by chrysanthemums,
 
lasts until daybreak.

 
 
 

Red chrysanthemums—
 
someone left them at my door
 
to wish me good luck.

 
 
 

white chrysanthemums
 
to remember my father—
 
first chill of autumn

 
 
 

I have but one gift
 
for my friend, the new widow:
 
white chrysanthemums.

 
 
 

autumn solitude—
 
watching white chrysanthemums
 
shrug off last night’s frost

 
 
 

I’ve only one gift
 
for my friend, the new widow—
 
white chrysanthemums.

 
 
 

gifts for my father
 
at his permanent address—
 
white chrysanthemums

 
 
 

White chrysanthemums
 
grow even whiter with snow
 
just before Christmas.

 
 
 

Autumn afternoon—
 
yellow chrysanthemums bloom
 
where the sidewalk ends.

 
 
 

At my father’s grave
 
I find that someone has left
 
white chrysanthemums.