Abstract
I rambled once, riding my bicycle
on a foggy day of winter.
The fog remained suspended long in the atmosphere -
so impatient I to go out,
for such a weather decades not seen.
Going farther and farther,
excited seeing the veiled country
on a lonesome village road not seen before,
the fogs dissipated; evening sun appeared
giving a pleasant apricity .
The countryside was calm, and gentle -
sprawling paddy fields, brown with stubble,
on both sides of the quiet, and peaceful road.
To the east, they stretched to the foot of the distant Blue Hill;
a grove of trees in the middle,
mist resting still at its foot,
while a few clouds seen floating above the brae,
top and above the idyllic blue hill.
There, a moment, I longed to sit
by the paddy field under the tree,
branches wide spreading
with a maiden of my imagination long ago.
(PUBLISHED IN THE INTERNATIONAL POETRY ANTHOLOGY - It is Still Poetry)
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