Harmony 31-03-24
Borrow but two ounces of earthly ink
to dye the mountains, waters and blossoms in sync.
Plead three cups of mortal tea,
to hope, to dream, to laugh and weep.
Discern oneself from the bustling day
and distinguish the green from a mass of grey.
Eventually spectate a falling sun,
recall the tears and promises that came undone.
Fate came, fate went, fate dissipates
like the rain sweeps the land in cascading slates.
Don't know when the blossoms fell,
just that they could never dwell,
return one's heart to the Earth's embrace
and become part of the wind's sweet trace.
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