Golden hands of the trees;
the lush green grass;
a path to the street.
Birds that sing;
sky that moves;
a brown fence
just over there.
The garden has trees,
it has life,
it has everything you need.
From my window I can see
one sparrow: he sits
scratching his wing with his beak,
twitching his head
left, right, left, right.
He jumps and flutters
to the next tree,
he sits.
