My sweet, little songbird
Flew out the door one day
Out I went to look for it
Hurriedly – without delay.
For winter was upon us
It would not live ’til morn
Outside, I placed its empty cage
And spent the night forlorn.
Next morn, I knew my songbird died
One thought did my tears allay:
It had known its freedom
If only for a day.
A ROSE IN BLOOM
Is there anything comparable to a rose in bloom?
I have found nothing that can quite compare
Ephemeral like the light of a winter moon
Such beauty in this world is a thing quite rare.
Royal – above any aristocratic title
Petals of velvet fold and soft contour
Deep hue no painted lips can ever rival
Its fragrance, like perfume, adds to its allure.
Neither the sparkle of the brightest diamond –
The woven pattern of the finest clothes –
Nor the placid stillness of a mirrored pond
Can compare to the perfection of a rose.
Posted in literature, Poetry
To be a robin
living each carefree moment
no past, no future
Weedy, vacant lot
abandoned and neglected
a wildflower blooms
gray pall washes over all
including my soul
Not falling blossoms
tokens of life’s brevity
but the blazing sun
Not a soul present
around this still, placid pond
just the birds and wind
I’m presently reading, I Wait for the Moon: 100 Haiku of Momoko Kuroda, translated with commentary by Abigail Friedman.