Reading so much has been most helpful to me.
There are so many old musty books to read,
I hardly know where to begin.
I read more than I write.
Willows weep softly
by the creek that flows near them
in the summer sun.
Rustic urns and garden walls awaiting
and cabbage roses open—their fragrance sweet:
A spicy aroma carried on the breeze,
Oh, enjoy it all now while summer lasts!
The wishing well is empty
like the rooms are above me;
decayed dreams haunt and hurt me
just like the old wishing well.
I see from the third floor windows,
Sparrows gathering around the post feeder.
Crows, ravens, and an occasional stray Jackdaw,
Gather around, waiting to feast upon fresh carrion.
A thousand blackbirds, with their red wing patch,
Swoop down into the gardens by the fountain.
I stare out the window watching the sights,
Never being disturbed in tranquility.
Tea time is not how it used to be,—
full of gaiety and life.
Only now, it's full of woe,
and tears drip into my cup.
One day, perhaps soon,
all alone, tea time shall return again—
to being a cheerful occasion.
I go on thinking what tea time could have been like.
Autumn leaves rain down
by gusts of wind outside my windowpane.
Shades of autumn linger,
here and there, with changing colors.
soon winter comes with snow.
Shades of winter,
scenes of snow
and all is white and cold.
Springtime unfurls like a flower
and the trees are awaking.
Summer comes again
with longer, warmer days.
The cycle of life continues on,
from the cradle to the grave.
Make the most of it all,
redeem the hours
while you can.