To a distant place
 
I plan a three-month journey—
 
there, wild dahlias bloom.

 
 

While the war drags on,
 
glimpses of cream-white dahlias
 
hearten the weary.

 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
let’s meet near the white dahlias
 
for a tête-à-tête.

 
 

Weeks after Easter
 
cream-white dahlias are blooming
 
in an old brown pot.

 
 

In an old clay pot
 
new white dahlias are blooming—
 
a black phoebe sings.