Haikus

stones lie quietly
beneath the river's current
touching each other
. . . . .
trees slowly grow buds
the wintercold will retreat
the spring sun will come
. . . . .
the goldfinches depart
their souls love the icy chill
winter is heaven
. . . . .
the tongue of spring licks
her newborn shoots of green grass
with ageless knowledge
. . . . .

Groundhog Day 1992