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.