Fox Footprints/From the Pavilion
From the Pavilion
All month from the pavilion I look forthAcross the pool to where the willow treeFlings long green pennons to the water's rim.The small peach bears a load all blossomyBut presently she lets it downward fallPetal by petal from her listless handsIntent on listening to the beating wingsOf swift spring days flying from southern lands.Beneath the crested eaves the wind-bells praiseHawk days, dove days, and darting swallow days.