Last years shoots
Withered on the limb,
They were my simple offering
At the Mt. of Sorrows.
The sky's gone dark,
No lark sings,
In the temple
They're gathering
To raise the final hymn
Of Exaltation.
I trimmed the branch
Back to the source,
I've lingered on
Paths of remorse,
But, Honey,
It's double jeopardy;
They can't
Re-hang me.
The ashes are blowing,
Roll back the stone,
I'm all tapped out,
But you could
Bleach my bones.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem