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.

Meal

 
 
 

for the evening meal
 
bread still warm from the oven
 
and two cups of tea