Between the high grey residential block
and the busy, noisy Japanese street
there’s a small park: three tall trees
in a broad bed of grey slate chips;
this autumn afternoon, the trees
have shed their golden-yellow leaves
over the grey ground; the gardener
has carefully brushed them with his wooden broom
off the chips, and into tidy golden rings
around the bases of the trees;
as if the leaves were gathered in some joyful ceremony
of gratitude, respect, and friendship; not farewell,
but time dissolved into a circled beauty;
the passers-by note this timeless act of worship;
share this with the others as they pass,
politely glancing towards strangers;
meeting, respectfully, not their eyes,
but, as leaves to trees, their heart.
I loved your poem. It painted a picture in my mind. Thanks for sharing.
roll over & die all ready, old dog... you're the only boring fart around here - oh wait and the rest of the dribbling brits hogwashing it up.
I was going to say I love the penultimate stanza, before realising I love it all. t x
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you. I found here a picture of a timeless, timefilled moment that soothed the spirit. Elegant phrasing.