An Early Morning
for Billy T. Lee


In an early morning on my arising,
I walk alone the path closeby the reservoir at Harrington Park,
stepping on the morning dew.

Dogwoods growing thick at the entrance are
emitting the gorgeous pure-white of hiser bloom.
Black purple of maple tree.
An infant cherry blossom.

A huge oak, American cedar
wearing moss and ivy on their whole barks aged hundreds of years
keep standing in the stagnation of genesis dark light.
That place of the water is dim by fog.
The air is limpid and obscure.

A wild rabbit and squirrel run on the ground agilely.
A family of wild duck in line walk near the water.
Chirps of bidrs far and near.
I pick up a stone beside the path and put it into my pocket.
I pick up a feather dropped off from a Canadian geese.