Вернуться к списку стихов

The Course of Nature

Here’s the skyline.
The blue sky.
The sand.

Here a seagull
scans
the coastland…

It flies to have
a drink of
salty brine…

Or maybe
catch a fish
along the line.

…So it should seem
there isn't much
to it:

There’s a park,
a grove,
a wooded bit,

the jasmine
coming into bloom
at night —

A tree,
yet still an object
of delight:

This world of marvels —
how does it
live?!.

All things must pass,
whatever
you believe:

For fifty years
no seagull
flies,

A blooming rose
withers fast —
and dies…

So that’s it —
a man’s life
is but a span…

…The seagull’s
riding on the wave
again:

A fish is caught —
and gulped
in no time…

But the springhead
will never
go dry:

Our Lord
is in command
of tides —

It’s Him
who sketches and shapes
the seasides,

He guides
the seagull
to the fishing spots

And bids
a tree to grow
with no words…

There’s life,
creative energy,
and — death,

And once again
renaissance…
In same ways

As a mantle of snow
melts
with every spring…

Just to come back —
in autumn...
As a king.