Broken and broken
again on the sea, the moon
so easily mends.
Over the winter forest,
winds howl in a rage
with no leaves to blow.
Ere yet the sun is high
All blue the iris blossoms wave,
The color of the sky.
At dawn
The pink clouds,
Like hundreds of *****
Creep from the hollows of heaven
Aug 26, 2016
Aug 26, 2016 at 7:43 AM UTC
Broken and broken
again on the sea, the moon
so easily mends.
Over the winter forest,
winds howl in a rage
with no leaves to blow.
Ere yet the sun is high
All blue the iris blossoms wave,
The color of the sky.
At dawn
The pink clouds,
Like hundreds of *****
Creep from the hollows of heaven
