Deep in spring, the rain's passed- West Lake is good.
A hundred grasses vie in beauty,
Confusion of butterflies, clamour of bees,
The clear day hurries the blossom to burst forth in the warmth.
Oars in lilies, a painted barge moving without haste.
I think I see a band of sprites-
Light reflected in the ripples,
The high wind carries music over the broad water.
*Poet is too lucky to witness this. There would be less pollution, beautiful Earth. I envy him very much.
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Metanoia || Poems Collection
PoetryMetanoia means the journey of changing one's mind, heart, self or way of life. This is collection of poems all around the world. "We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race. An...
