Adieu, adieu! my native shore
Fades o'ver the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
My native Land-Good Night!
A few short hours, and he will rise
To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall;
My dog howls at the gate.
I go through periods of playing chess on my phone. I guess I enjoy that as much as anything. It’s a fine time pass. Though I’m not any good. If one were to go by what I do reasonably well, that would be more word puzzles or Scrabble — things that rely upon verbal skills. I’ve never been big on games of any variety.
bright flowers
dance in a breeze,
beside the castle wall.
I read the space
Around the poem.
It has no meaning,
But says so much.
It betrays a little secret
That no reader ever learned
Who was too concerned
With what was written,
While wholly inattentive
To
What
Was
Not.
How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!
How cheerfully he seems to grin,
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!
I’ve never baked a bread. That sounds satisfying.
There once was a wise Daoist Immortal,
Asked the secret to long life, he'd chortle:
"If you can stand masses
Who behave like asses
You're enlightened --
but better off mortal."
sparse patter
on leaves outside the window:
half-hour after rain.
