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...
Categories:
thatchings, change, philosophy,
Form: Free verse