Sunrise cold,
Mountaintops are snow covered;
Coming wind,
Coming bold,
Blooms from late cold recovers,
Once again.

Water steams,
Rivers flow down gray stone walls;
Boils for tea,
Late of streams,
Besides flowers and bird calls,
Sing pretty.

The blue cup,
Green tea and herbs careful blend;
Morning bloom,
Carries up,
Waking Mistress once again,
The dark room.

Curtains drawn,
The spring remains hiding there,
The blooms spurn,
Sitting on
Just a stool not quite a chair,
Mood will turn.

Cooks bellow,
Running to feed the fire,
Fetch water,
While shadow
Has yet to fall from higher,
Dark water.

Running there
And back with breath in frosting
The brick wind,
Find the cracks,
In thin and baggy clothing,
The days spin.