Sunday, July 8, 2012


Risen within, a wall of fire
that incinerates the garden 
yet seeds survive
from dead earth do life still thrive

Till the lands with love
water them with piety
what fruits and flowers reaped
came from deeds sowed

Saplings do not grow overnight
into great wizened trees
the branches grow hard and crooked
yet light do green leaves seek

Mountains of dirt and stone
ancient as them are traditions
the frail of body are loftier of mind
the clouds about their heads do not blind

Humbled paths are beaten
paved with hard-earned virtue
sometimes the road not taken
are wisely left untrodden

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