Autumn evening chill—
 
a mug of steaming chocolate
 
fixes all my ills.

 
 
 

Warm summer evening—
 
behind the sleazy motel
 
a homeless man sleeps.

 
 

Summer evening snack—
 
I reach for the ripest plum
 
in the clean, white bowl.

 
 
 

Warm summer evening—
 
moonlight slips through my window
 
like a furtive cat.

 
 
 

Winter evening rain—
 
a blackbird keeps on flying,
 
bent on getting home.

 
 
 

After evening tea,
 
I wish spring were nearly here—
 
my plum-blossom dreams.

 
 
 

Winter evening rain—
 
to hear the pitter-patter,
 
I turn off the news.

 
 
 

As evening comes on,
 
the old oak in the meadow
 
hides a cunning crow.

 
 
 

Late summer evening—
 
the homeward path is narrow,
 
but my steps are sure.

 
 
 

On the evening news
 
reports of robins appear—
 
eighteen days till spring.