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

 
 
 

In mid-December
 
the first morning light arrives
 
whenever it wants.

 
 
 

Listen, December,
 
something about your weather
 
really annoys me.

 
 
 

Cold December rain—
 
if the maple trees could speak,
 
maybe they’d complain.

 
 
 

Cold December rain—
 
I hear a crow scolding me
 
but cannot see it.

 
 
 

Early December—
 
although the rose is fading,
 
still, it brings me joy.

 
 
 

Cold December rain—
 
perhaps someone with good news
 
will knock at my door.

 
 
 

Seeking some relief
 
from the cold December rain,
 
I sweeten my tea.

 
 
 

In your repertoire
 
you have no glad tidings, crow—
 
cold December rain.

 
 
 

December journey—
 
I stumble through the shadows
 
on an empty street.