Morning River

Ducks float across the blue waters,

And hurry to their way, and on the sky,

According the southerly blows,

The Geese slice thru the white clouds and fly,

The red flower buds of plum blossoms

Gently burst at holm,

The old fisher ties his boat

To a willow and heads to home.

(Apr. 16^th, 2024, Kinsley Lee)