A patch of Sammamish, I gaily drive along
Leafless maples, line up for a furlong
The evening air, is heavy with drops
Drifting down to the earth, singing a song
The sky is a canopy, of clouds high and gray,
Cleaned of their treasures, lighter do they weigh
A slight breach in the west, sparkles the mist
A cosmic light shines thru, as clouds break away
To my right I, give an instinctive glance
A great arc has the deep, held in a trance
A gateway to mysteries, immense and ancient
Of beings and events, across the great expanse
Colors jostle for room, though each's been chosen
A riot of colors, though, they number only seven
Green smiles brighter, than the mellow yellow
Declaring that spring, will soon be in action!
Abhay B.
Joshi