Summer morning,

as unostentatious as black rings;

thebottoms of the cumulous clouds like a ball of cotton

keepsclearing primary streaks from the east.

The Jumble babblers arrive, like on all days

gray and without glamour,

it never passes me for a moment from where,

I humbly regret I am late from bed –

For not having spread them the corns of fox-tailed millets,

nothaving filled thewater-bath daubed saffron-paintto the brim;

the level is low that I fear that the bird bending over on its rim

Might tumble and drown –

The one with “What the heck?”goose-flesh around the neck.

they all look alike, unostentatious,

ravenouslypicking bristle-back butter-fly worms here and there –

makingan impromptu banquet under the Lemon tree.

Seven sisters,

Seven sisters,no brothers; no brothers

I wonder how they come into the world,

How happy they are.