Cloudless May morning—
 
we mark the last days of spring,
 
longing for some rain.

 

 
 
 

Chilly spring morning—
 
I seek the solace of tea
 
in a plain white cup.

 

 
 
 

A warm spring morning—
 
I place the names of roses
 
on my eager tongue.

 

 
 
 

Pleasant spring morning—
 
we linger over coffee
 
long past ten o’clock.

 

 
 
 

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

 

 
 
 

On my morning walk
 
I glimpse a ravenous hawk,
 
flying home with prey.

 

 
 
 

Little brown sparrow,
 
have you composed a new song
 
for Easter morning?

 

 
 
 

First morning of spring—
 
overnight dandelions
 
invaded my lawn!

 
 
 

Two in the morning—
 
my day begins with coffee
 
and a chat with God.

 
 
 

My cherry tree groans,
 
weighted down by morning fog
 
pressing on each branch.