Each year come the Ides of March
The Red Silk Cotton starts to bloom
‘Tis then that the waiting starts
For the winged guests to arrive

Somehow this cycle of nature
Hast created for me a sense of normal
Indicators that all’s well in the world
The flocking birds and the blooming Semal

This year too there was the anxious wait
I wondered if, for the tree had bloomed late
Woke up this morning and the cynic had died
The flocking birds brought my hope alive