Snow

Snowflakes fall on the ground like
Wisdom that needs to be spread.
The fatter ones are the harshest ones,
And those are the ones that need to be said.
The tiniest flakes are the one-liners,
The bits of truths we learn every day
That sprinkle knowledge in my hair.
People avoid harsh truths,
But sometimes the truth is dressed as
A winter wonderland,
And sometimes that makes it
Easier to swallow.
I welcome snow on cold mornings.
It makes coming to life a lot simpler

Snow

Snowflakes fall on the ground like
Wisdom that needs to be spread.
The fatter ones are the harshest ones,
And those are the ones that need to be said.
The tiniest flakes are the one-liners,
The bits of truths we learn every day
That sprinkle knowledge in my hair.
People avoid harsh truths,
But sometimes the truth is dressed as
A winter wonderland,
And sometimes that makes it
Easier to swallow.
I welcome snow on cold mornings.
It makes coming to life a lot simpler

Winter Forest

blue air
snowbound pockets
sailing the covered land
that's drifting white

branches broken
between the light
we lie in the snow
to sink beyond
anyone's sight

the streamlets circle
they wrap us
in their ice-bound arms
and we are one
shining with the sun

It Started Snowing

It was a cool Winter.
There were a few people outside.
All at a sudden it became cooler.
Snow fell but not to slide.

That is a good picture.
Drops of snow flakes were falling.
This is nearly the end for sure.
You can seat and stay for hours watching.

Two Travellers perishing in Snow

933

Two Travellers perishing in Snow
The Forests as they froze
Together heard them strengthening
Each other with the words

That Heaven if Heaven—must contain
What Either left behind
And then the cheer too solemn grew
For language, and the wind

Long steps across the features took
That Love had touched the Morn
With reverential Hyacinth—
The taleless Days went on

Till Mystery impatient drew
And those They left behind
Led absent, were procured of Heaven


Tz'u No. 12

To the tune of "Happy Event Is Nigh"

The wind ceases; fallen flowers pile high.
Outside my screen, petals collect in heaps of red
and snow-white.

This reminds me that after the blooming
of the cherry-apple tree
It is time to lament the dying spring.

Singing and drinking have come to an end;
jade cups are empty;
Lamps are flickering.

Hardly able to bear the sorrows and regrets
of my dreams,
I hear the mournful cry of the cuckoo.


Two Seasons

I

The stars were wild that summer evening
As on the low lake shore stood you and I
And every time I caught your flashing eye
Or heard your voice discourse on anything
It seemed a star went burning down the sky.

I looked into your heart that dying summer
And found your silent woman's heart grown wild
Whereupon you turned to me and smiled
Saying you felt afraid but that you were
Weary of being mute and undefiled

II

I spoke to you that last winter morning


Twelfth Night

His first infidelity was a mistake, but not as big
As her false pregnancy. Later, the boy found out

He was born three months earlier than the date
On his birth certificate, which had turned into
A marriage license in his hands. Had he been trapped
In a net, like a moth mistaken for a butterfly?
And why did she--what was in it for her?
It took him all this time to figure it out.
The barroom boast, "I never had to pay for it,"
Is bogus if marriage is a religious institution


Troilus And Criseyde Book 01

The double 12 sorwe of Troilus to tellen,
That was the king Priamus sone of Troye,
In lovinge, how his aventures fellen
Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye,
My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye.
Thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte
Thise woful vers, that wepen as I wryte!

To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of torment,
Thou cruel Furie, sorwing ever in peyne;
Help me, that am the sorwful instrument
That helpeth lovers, as I can, to pleyne!
For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne,
A woful wight to han a drery fere,


Tornfallet

There is a meadow in Sweden

where I lie smitten,

eyes stained with clouds'

white ins and outs.


And about that meadow

roams my widow

plaiting a clover

wreath for her lover.


I took her in marriage

in a granite parish.

The snow lent her whiteness,

a pine was a witness.


She'd swim in the oval

lake whose opal

mirror, framed by bracken,

felt happy, broken.



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