My next-door neighbor
 
never deadheads his roses—
 
petals fall like snow.

 
 

Unexpected snow
 
crushes my friend’s daffodils—
 
why shouldn’t she weep?

 
 
 

With its rasping voice
 
a crow shakes an inch of snow
 
from the cedar tree.

 
 
 

Deepening winter—
 
enticed by snow-free pathways,
 
I go exploring.

 
 
 

February snow—
 
how fruitless to start singing
 
cherry-blossom songs!

 
 
 

First day of the month—
 
on a patch of dirty snow
 
a blue face mask lies.

 
 
 

How persistently
 
the cardinal keeps singing,
 
urging snow to melt!

 
 
 

Save your outrage, crow,
 
for something more important
 
than the falling snow.

 
 
 

Buried under snow,
 
bright red leaves hold their color,
 
unseen and unsung.

 
 
 

a stray white feather
 
in the old stone Buddha’s lap
 
and new-fallen snow