From my recent series Mountainless Poetry (AKA Plain Poetry)
My stone home is unchanged by rains. My stone home does not rustle and ruffle in every breeze. My stone home won't ever fall to flame. This is a saddening for me. For I won't see it change. The valley is built with bamboo homes. And thatchings. And each will come to pass, as things do. But my stone home won't see such change in a span of time that I will live to learn from. My stone home teaches too slowly for this dim student. And so, a cup of tea...
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