The cherry trees bend over and are shedding on the old road where all that passed dead, Their petals, strewing the grass as for a wedding this early April morn when there is none to wed...

By the ford at the town's edge
Horse and carter rest;
The carter smokes on the bridge
Watching the water press in swathes
about his horse's chest.

From the inn one watches, too,
In the room for visitors
That has no fire, but a view
And many cases of stuffed fish,
vermin, and kingfishers.