Tuesday, January 28, 2020

Variant on Kokin Wakashu, 10

What is there to commend us
to the grass that sleeps
under the snow? To the trees
hardened to pieces of armor
abandoned on the battlefield?
To the birds hidden within?
What is there we cannot
see? Not know? Or speak of
only in dreams?
Why is the future white
and the past shrouded
in darkness?

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