First greens sprout up
First yellows smile
Do you too wither on the vine?
...
A whisper of wind in the pines,
And too many of scandals
Waiting long for my horse,
Wondering who took'er away.
...
Rain, in a fit of pique
Pouring over the air
Redolent with honey-suckle.
...
Blowballs
A whiff of wind
To carry the puny
Parachutes of dandelions.