Zen And The Art Of Dying Poem by Jim Jordan

Like vanishing dew,
a passing apparition,
or a sudden flash of
lightning ~ already gone ~
so should one regard ones self.

What might I leave you
as my lasting legacy ~
flowers in springtime,
the mockingbird singing all summer,
the yellow leaves of autumn.

Only now do I know
that power ~ greater than storms,
a heart-rending awe
silencing all the pines
at nightfall on the mountain.

If pressed to compare
this brief life, I would say
it’s like the boat
that crossed this morning’s harbor,
leaving no mark on the world.

To learn to die,
watch the cherry blossoms
observe the chrysanthemums.
O voice of the all night wind and rain,
do you count the petals falling.