Buffs Puffed Rushed Rice Poem by James McLain

Your eyes,
yes,
every day we paint them different,
as is each day,
the world Spain's it's seasons of you.
Can your moon so high, buffed shiny,
colored misty night, cool in hand, my eye?
Though you turn, veiled, cloudy times away.
Your crack of dawn, sends the bird looking,
was it ever found, smiling at you, knowing?
Ba-vi and Tam-dao,
inched brushed, runs happy, singing down ward.
You are so, Hang Son Doong, forever to buff,
forever to fill, running inward, free.