California drought—
 
on an autumn afternoon
 
we sing songs for rain.

 
 
 

Chilly autumn rain—
 
do you still have songs to sing,
 
little brown sparrow?

 
 
 

Early morning rain—
 
I linger over coffee
 
and write some haiku.

 
 
 

Unexpected rain—
 
the drought-stricken cottonwoods
 
lap up every drop.

 
 
 

On summer’s last day
 
we linger over breakfast—
 
unexpected rain.

 
 
 

Unexpected rain—
 
the dahlias in their clay pots
 
lap up every drop.

 
 
 

Labor Day’s bad news:
 
ashes from a nearby fire
 
rain down on my car.

 
 
 

Only in a dream
 
does rain refresh my garden—
 
summer’s drought deepens.

 
 
 

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

 

 
 
 

On his homeward way
 
an old man trudges slowly,
 
weighed down by spring rain.