The Buddhist
Clouds sail by
Ships of cotton wool in an inverted sky
Reflecting sheep in a lake of glass
A dream of clarity
Where a leaf is more real and pure than a man
Birdsong an intricate composition
That makes Mozart clutch his arms with pique
He can’t compete
With nature in her true and savage form
The Buddhist sits
In enlightened shadows
Seeking nirvana in the salty breeze
A half smile plays on tender lips
Gazing into a frozen sky
But not quite safe within the swirling void
Of a calm and empty mind
Soon though, perhaps soon
Meanwhile, a child picks a flower
A swaying yellow bloom
The first to escape from winters clutches
And laughs with joy and pleasure
Skipping up a verdant hill
Homewards for fresh baked bread and jam
And malted milk
With the undiluted ecstasy
of a loving mind
