Listen, in the shadowy lee of
a white flower's petals by
water mirroring the sky above,
to a breeze herding clouds
along a pathway from
what was, toward what will be.
At the end of a long, long road
A village in repose,
Lit up like an evening rose
Greets the weary traveller.
The sun ascends
Unborn clouds
Forecast the shape
Of happiness to come
Many seasons have passed
And still my branches
Reach for the sky
For dreams and hope.
