At times like these, there is nothing good
to write about-
trees are dressing; the sky is bright
and strung with clouds.
There are buds now,
and grass still blinking.
Already, the sparrows preen on wire;
Soon it will be time to cut the lawn;
the garden will need mulching,
and these toes will have to leave
But for now, this is enough-
the draining of coffee, absorption of heat-
this drying of wings