Markus Jay Poet Tanka

the old man dawns

with callous laid hands
the old man toils garden soil
of this dry, hard land.
as his blood, sweat and tears drip,
he gladly gives all he can.

he has seen the dawn,
and he has seen the sun set,
now he sees it all
as meaning and metaphor,
of this living garden bed.

he realizes
that everything in the end
must wither and die.
and his years have now condemned,
the sprite of youthful passion.

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