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Ground Dead
foolish be he
man standing under, sitting above tree
leaf falls and says:
you again?
life not long, but you no roots to grave
... what type of fortune; coins not gold?
for you to toss in slots not made:
foolish man
be he laughing?
smiles of white
words in shadows; they cascade
fortune none
all thoughts one
my mind complete
the story made
last leaf sails upon the ground
the green now mostly brown:
foolish man!
what story made?
young hands are wrinkled now
not much joy
in a life
just sitting..in the ground
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