The Tree, The Lamp

The tree grows old in the tree, it is summer. The bird leaps beyond birdsong and is gone. The red of the dress illuminates and scatters Away, in the sky, the lading of old sorrow. Come away from the dark corners the night is laden with the soft whispers of the tree the evening song utters a sad soliloquy when rains of yesterday sings memories in the raindrops. O fragile country, Like the flame of a lamp carried out-of-doors, The streets talk of the beckoning sleep being close in the world's sap, Simple the beating of a shared soul. You too love the moment when the light of the lamps fades and dreams into daylight and when the sleepy sun cries to hear its lullabies. You know it's the darkness of your own heart healing, The boat that reaches shore and falls.