At the evening marsh,
the sun and the lily pads
float in the grasses.

Antlers coming in,
among the marsh marigold,
the young deer crosses.

Yellow-tongued iris,
forget-me-nots at its feet,
untroubled by death.

The darkening marsh—
unfazed by the setting sun,
swans circle and dip.

Sun across the marsh,
my dog and I, in frosty air,
feel it looks like hope.

There is mystery
in the morning songs of birds
and deep, deep grasses.

A red-winged pair here,
their call caught in the grasses,
becoming their world.