Not every journey
 
needs to have yellow roses
 
waiting at the end.

 
 
 

End-of-summer dirge—
 
the scarecrow’s tattered jacket
 
flutters in a breeze.

 
 
 

In my year-end dream,
 
I’m sure I smell fresh blossoms
 
on my cherry tree.

 
 
 

By cherry blossoms,
 
though they be but year-end dreams,
 
my hope is renewed.

 
 
 

Having done some things,
 
I leave other things undone—
 
one more spring day ends.

 

 
 
 

One more April ends—
 
I keep forgetting to spread
 
my father’s ashes.

 

 
 
 

End-of-winter dream:
 
I keep waiting for a bus
 
that never shows up.

 
 
 

How satisfying
 
to eat an avocado
 
as the old year ends!

 
 
 

Rusting windmill blades—
 
how many times will they turn
 
before my path ends?

 
 
 

Deepening autumn—
 
the path on which I stumble
 
seems to have no end.