I am content to know/ The protecting embrace of a maple/ Shielding me/ From harsh January winds/

A Sated Soul

Were I born with paws,/ would my footsteps move less earth?/ Were I covered in fur,/ would cotton stay bound to its burrs?/

Tortula Ruralis

Each pellucid drop glides down the awns/ and nestles between the verdant folds./ The small green leaves and drop embrace,/ To uncurl with the morning dew./