つ ぼ み Buds
I search in people of varying status
for a seed of humanity.
In some I suspect there to be a bud
and a sun be shining down upon it,
Water be poured out on it,
feeding and nourishing it to greater life.
Others I assume will have matured growth,
singing of the blisses spring has swept along,
reaching to others, spreading its song,
and strengthening those that have yet to bloom.
But then there are those
that I do not understand,
no matter how strong my wish is to know.
Their dirt holds a seed, but the dark overshadows it
and the rain is ...
Songs that our hearts, break,
that always make
my father want to cry.
Songs I use to chide
are being sung
as the sun sets behind the hills
and the ocean tide
swallows the sand.
My ears are reluctant to hear