[image source]
against the gently flowing spring morning
the arrogant rattle of a passing coach
peach blossoms beckon from the distant village
willow branches caress the shoulder of my pond
as bream and carp flash their golden scales
and mated ducks link embroidered wings
the poet stares about: this way, then that –
caught in a web beyond all speaking
[from The Clouds Should Know Me by Now: Buddhist Poet Monks of China]
[cross-posted at Zaadz]
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