Pond
There is a pond in a high-mountain valley
Known only to those who create it by will.
Its water is green, deep, melted-snow clear
And viewing its depths is a singular skill.
The peace and tranquility one sees below
Cleanse the mind clear of the chaos above.
Blessed is the one who has come to know
That such a pond brings the peace of a dove.
Mortality requires a refuge like a pond—
A place where one can reassemble senses,
Where self and the world can forge a bond.
And where one can build defensive fences.
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