"In this world, one finds friends in the strangest places."
seven samurai

in the back of the damp winter garden,
under the letting-go tree,
i found the empty shell of my old friend.
i guess snails only live so long.
probably relied on him too much .
i sure will miss him.

A wildflower lives a single day,
then yields to the wind.
Its children climb gracefully
to signal its early end.

The songbird sings sweetly
of flowers to be born
and dazzling hillside colors
that are yet to be worn.

The songbird's morning song
is filled with mirth and glee,
I wish this were my song
but that is not to be.

My pen is made of sorrow,
just more mellow as I age,
it dries darkly as I brush
a flower seed off the page.