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years--


Chimes tied in the branch
we climbed when we were young
sing with the west wind.

How can string and bamboo pipe
ring like our laughter once did?

Dust, and fading light.
No wind can blow away
the calm of evening.

The wind of memory brings
its own dust, and purity.

The last whipporwill
has ended its evening song.
Silence, too, echoes.

No evening is quiet; even
a mountain's heart cries for dawn.

Shh! No noise - the bud
of the rain lily opens
with thunder's voice.

Each petal I see opening
rings like an old bamboo chime.

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Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
spottylogic
Aug. 14th, 2003 06:16 pm (UTC)
Cherry blossoms.
auliya
Aug. 15th, 2003 02:12 am (UTC)
ROTFL
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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