Meeting you is like spring water reflecting pear blossoms,
Seeing you is like the chirping of cicadas accompanying the summer,
Thinking of you is like a thousand arrows piercing my heart,
Remembering you is like the spring breeze brushing the mountain ridge,
Watching you is like fireworks illuminating the world,
The poems I write for you,
Last for a thousand years,
Known by all,
But only the title remains.
Some people vote, but never think,
Their choices shallow, quick to sink.
They cheer and boast, with voices loud,
But wisdom’s lost inside the crowd.
Not quite,
but close.
A shade off,
a soft blur,
Almost there,
but waiting,
somewhere between
yes and maybe.
The sun hangs high, a golden blaze,
Filling the sky with unblinking gaze.
It watches over the land, fierce and bold,
Turning the ground to burnished gold.
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