In the drowsy dark caves of the mind

dreams build their nest with fragments

dropped from day’s caravan.

Spring scatters the petals of flowers

that are not for the fruits of the future,

but for the moment’s whim.

Joy freed from the bond of earth’s slumber

rushes into numberless leaves,

and dances in the air for a day.

My words that are slight

my lightly dance upon time’s waves

when my works havy with import have gone down.

Mind’s underground moths

grow filmy wings

and take a farewell flight

in the sunset sky.

The butterfly counts not months but moments,

and has time enough.

My thoughts, like spark, ride on winged surprises,carrying a single laughter.The tree gazes in love at its own beautiful shadow which yet it never can grasp.