Once there came a man Who said: "Range me all men of the world in rows." And instantly There was a terrific clamor among the people Against being ranged in rows. There was a loud quarrel, world-wide. It endured for ages; And blood was shed By those who would not stand in rows, And by those who pined to stand in rows. Eventually, the man went to death, weeping. And those who stayed in the bloody scuffle Knew not the great simplicity.
After choosing one's scope of thought, Turn the words and note their order. Embrace the hot ones, feel their burn; Knock on lines and hear their timbre. Use the branches to shake the leaves, And waves can be traced to their source. Make the hidden come visible; Make the difficult seem simple. A tiger's transformation startles -- Birds take flight on sight of dragons. Sometimes words nest into each other; Sometimes, jaggedly, they won't mesh. With a clear, contemplative mind Hordes filter through to easy speech. Heaven and Earth contained within: All things flow from the brush with ease. Starting timidly with dry mouth, Ending with a wandering brush. Meaning is borne by a stout trunk, Language hangs like leaf and fruit. Make words and intended meaning match As moods show clearly on a face. When happiness comes, laugh & smile, And with sorrow let loose a sigh. At times words flow spontaneously; At times one bites one's brush, musing.