Little brown sparrow,
 
the mist that shrouds my plum tree
 
also shrouds your song.

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Why do you scold me,
 
blackbird in the hawthorn tree?
 
Let me nap in peace!

 
 
 

Through this morning’s fog
 
I cannot see my plum tree—
 
spring melancholy.

 
 
 

Wind from the mountains
 
flows through my plum tree’s blossoms,
 
then on to the sea.

 
 
 

I hear your rasping,
 
crow in my neighbor’s oak tree—
 
or is it the wind?

 
 
 

Around my plum tree
 
the wind wraps a plastic bag—
 
spring melancholy.

 
 
 

Six days past Easter
 
my plum tree drops its blossoms—
 
snowflakes in the grass.