Evening House

The first raindrops on the sill;

Mouse claws on the shingle.

A branch rocks on the breeze,

Hot moon pulled beneath the eaves.

So many times I waited

For gentle snow –

My hair gone white,

My larder full.

Why then such hunger

And this welling sorrow?

Dim shafts of moonlight

Leave their silver tips,

Lamping twigs

Where birds of evening perch.