All plants, aware that spring will soon be gone,
Their brightest rose bud purple hues put on:
And from each emulous bloom
Is shed a sweet perfume.
Only the willow-catkins and elm-keys,
In their simplicity, with every breeze
Over the heavens go
Flying like flakes of snow.
Thank you for these fine poems. I sip my beer and enter into the spirit of each utterance.
ReplyDeleteIt's a treat to get a reaction to my blog, there's enough material on the internet to go on indefinitely, A toast to you and also Li Po who drowned one night trying to embrace the reflection of the moon in a river. Take Care
ReplyDelete