From the window of my brown study,
                    Chrysanthemum Park is minted
                    into green and yellow
                    when the sun chooses to be a goldsmith.

                    The trees hum and drone with bumble-bees.
                    Giant oaks roll their lost acorns
                    with gnarled fingers deep inside hollow pockets.

                    Rabbits and hares gambol about busily,
                    in and out of burrows, ears always to the ground;
                    stopping only to wash their hands
                    of dust, pollen, and leisure.

                    Pearly white spiders
                    knit endless trampolines
                    with spruce needles.
                    Green darners float around,
                    their shiny wings iridescent
                    with dreamy languor.

                    Chattering sparrows kick up their heels.
                    Halcyon moments, by the ruffled lake --
                    and the kingfisher, brilliant,
                    fishes for compliments.

                    Squirrels and chipmunks, self-appointed surveyors
                    scamper up and down pines, birches, larches --
                    measuring and mapping throughout the hours.

                    Then they squat down, twirling their moustaches,
                    spending their time of day solving complicated sums
                    in the shade of the mushrooms.

                    Amnesiac misers with their hoards
                    of nuts and berries, their chatter crackles
                    into the slow lazy static on the vacant radio
                    in the still summer afternoon . . .

                    Srinjay Chakravarti