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Wednesday, May 07, 2014

On the Yellow Road


Morning shadows yawn
Lazily across the lawn.
It's time to get up.






Yellow blooms resist
The sunshine's penetration
By taking it in.





 


My stream is sleeping--
Small puddles of water lie.
(Yesterday's tumult).





 Carved by shadows
Stately house gains its power
At end of the field.




Forsythia wilts;
Soon its flowers will be dropping
On the yellow road.







What? It's dry again!
The empty stream bed teases
Our expectations.






Plunging the sharp tool,
Woman makes the hard earth yield
With her persistence.






Plants growing on rocks?
Don't they know any better?
(Knowledge ain't the point).





























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