Flurry sounds, light gust wind
no whorls that cry and sing
nobody can turn
thinking what you will of it,
and put it down
for a tick and tock of now,
shadow fills our world,
and hard to catch sight of is
cast among all arms of a tall mossy trunk body,
a body,
many trunks stand around in a crowd - as humans do
I say this to you, and call for shouting
thinning out follows
a tiny clock counts inward thoughts
and too soon you wilt, fold, and fall
It is not a small,
or cowardly,
or a nominal thing
only tiring, hot, and unsatisfactory sad
and tiny actions, going through of motions
strung to our minds starry wants, sophomoric flights of fancy-
minds may call paths run, dog days,
a ball of tar pinus shrub buds,
so slow is lot molding our luck, with significant grin baring tooth
carrying out karma's instruction too fully, too simply, or too stark
too tardy, to stop it now-
and wintry
twinkling bunch of cold stars at the window
that brings to mind with broad murals of thought this who is , so many big fish, small pond, big plain
all your dog days bring coming back down a long tall stair way
to a narrow trail by running aqua,
is this it, this iron comfort, and sound taboos,
or did you want to stop it as you did?
and his mask looks as yours,
that moon cast back on a shining pool.
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