Willow Oak
柳栎
I take my cup of tea to the back porch
in the morning it’s cool and quiet
yesterday’s rain has stopped
but the trees drip, the grass a wet carpet
gray slate sky, no breeze
only the crickets’ soft chirping
a bee zips in and out
of pink and yellow mandevilla blossoms
not a leaf stirs on the willow oak
with its two branches of brown dead leaves
it’s a pretty tree, relaxed like a willow
I hope it’s not dying
I sip my tea slowly
count the roses on the four small bushes
finally some birds twitter awake
a crow calls out twice then is silent
from the short-needled Virginia pine
a small cone drops with a soft thud
with both oval leaves and lobed leaves
the blackberry stirs and shakes off the rain
I wish the breeze would stir the white oak
pale-bottomed leaves dancing
I wonder if the willow oak
is old and diseased like me
except for the brown leaves it seems hearty
without gray hair and regrets
but maybe it's learned to become
good at masking its sorrow
I sip my tea slowly
listen to the drops on the porch roof
I gaze form tree to blossom to grass
trying to savor them and slow down time
a small gray bird alights on the green cedar
I feel the cool air on my face
the crow now converses in earnest
and myriad birds now chirp and warble
old oak, how many more of these cool quiet mornings
will we have to enjoy together?