This is the last season
Winds blow without the lilt
of summer song.
The distance ends at no horizon-
...
Why sing of hills, rivers, skies and trees
In themselves they remain
Inert objects
Without theme, color and meaning-
...
Winds fume and whine,
Storm through forests
Bending and lashing them to frenzy
The dark sun slips into torpor.
...
This year,
will pass like all years
days will become nights
seasons will bend and disappear
...
The bells in the temple ring out
Evening vespers
The wafting of flames from lamps
Throw patterns
...
Those who have crossed over
without pain or murmur
are voices singing of the glorious land
their steps cover.
...
Gold and silver and all that is nice
Always come with a heavy price.
You who would train your muscle and brain
For all that the world serenades as gain
...
Lift yourself up when you find yourself in the valley of despair
Lift yourself up by watching the birds that fly
Bravely breasting through the haphazard winds that try
To force them down.
...
Morning ray through branches and leaves filtering
Cold in its embrace absorbing
Warm glow over land and breeze spreading
Silent joy in its slow rhythm flowing.
...
The Last Season
This is the last season
Winds blow without the lilt
of summer song.
The distance ends at no horizon-
all is here and now.
The land of the heart is wet.
Still the subterranean spring hums
the rain songs of yesterdays.
Memory will bring a new season
not of this earth.
Branches are twigs now.
But with a little rain
buds may come.