Left on the beach Full of water A worn out boat Reflects the white sky ā Of early autumn.
Swifter than hail Lighter than a feather, A vague sorrow Crossed my mind.
Feeling you nearby, how could I not come to walk beneath this evening moon rising over flowering fields.
It was only the thin thread of a cloud, almost transparent, leading me along the way like an ancient sacred song.
I say his poem, propped against this frozen wall, in the late evening, as bitter autumn rain continues to fall. What I count on is a white birch that stands where no human language is ever heard.
A bird comes delicately as a little girl to bathe in the shade of my tree in an autumn puddle.
Even at nineteen, I had come to realize that violets fade, spring waters soon run dry, this life too is transient
He stood by the door, calling through the evening the name of my sister who died last year and how I pitied him!
SquireofGotham 