Glistening puddle, wooly fog,
bird’s swift shadow, or just this button,
bound in time, sealed in the mind’s urn.
Why then this gloomy gaze
on the final unknown landscape? As if puzzled
by the stem of a white lotus, one exquisite
instant facing time’s blade,
its pure, still profile mirrored in blue water.
Autumn lurks far off, clouds hurrying the sky.
Wind that roosts in withered grass
soon snarls, a lion raking plains.
In the country of your brain, all may assemble
to breed their own storm. Or only spawn
mere posture.
PoemWiki 评分
暂无评论 写评论