In a place where pale pink
blossoms fall like rain.
Land softly on the heads
of quiet people.
Where Cherry Blossoms
are sacred,
each petal a bridge
between heaven and earth.
Where ancient stone bridges
cross ponds of Lotus flowers.
He teaches English there,
as he learns to quiet
his own spirit.
This pulls at the readers heart from all the right dirrections, Brilliant! and so rewarding to read, love Dunacn
Ah, great poem indeed...perfect for hippies like me...learning to quiet one's own spirit can prove to be utmost difficult, I hope he suceeds
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Now that's a serene scene you paint with words, Joyce.