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

 
 
 

Misty autumn dawn—
 
with the sparrow’s first thin notes
 
my joy is renewed.

 
 

October’s first joy—
 
some wild asters in a ditch
 
sing of seeds to come.

 
 
 

Thinking of blossoms
 
on a frigid afternoon,
 
I shiver with joy.

 
 
 

A path before me
 
lights up with autumn color—
 
see, I skip for joy!

 
 
 

Summer’s first small joy:
 
finding a speckled feather
 
on my patio.

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
I have no use this morning
 
for your songs of joy.

 

 
 
 

Slug on the sidewalk,
 
do you portend great sorrows
 
or unbounded joy?

 
 
 

First small joy of spring—
 
a young boy at the bike store
 
gets a bargain price.

 
 
 

From a sparrow’s throat
 
songs of joy spill on a branch—
 
autumn afternoon.