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Footprints
are poems to the mountains,
Paths from boyhood into jade,
is the thought
an echo of the heart?
.
Craving a high place,
the mind is often still,
While wind moves through grass
westward, like the sun.
Paths from boyhood into jade,
is the thought
an echo of the heart?
.
Craving a high place,
the mind is often still,
While wind moves through grass
westward, like the sun.
7 comments:
poetry is growing process.
this is a compact and elegant poem.
delightful read.
Beautiful -- just beautiful!
elegant.
this is superb.
simple lines, powerful sentiments sent.
sugar sweet ....
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