Sylvan leaves fall softly forming fountains
In the ether. Golden streams flow swiftly
Over stone and earth eternal. Plum trees
Blossom, flow'ring, silent in the mountains.
Ephemeral ants, quick, crawl across the land
Finishing this endless symphony. Rain falls,
Wind blows, a miasma settles, enthralls.
And I begin to believe, that my hand
Is as the rains are to the trees, my eye
Is as the rays are to the leaves, my limb
Is as the streams are to the seas, my verse
Is as the facts are to the seen, and so
I am as Nature is to me.
-- 10/9/01 |
