Divining a far-flung place to
dwell,
Peace of Heaven—there’s nothing
more to say.
Gibbons cry from the cold mists of
the valley,
glowing peaks merge into a grass
gate,
leaves thatch the roof of a home in
the pines,
a pond is channeled from a spring.
Content at last to drop the world,
picking ferns as the years fall
away.
No comments:
Post a Comment