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