I write my poems
only to leave them as leaves
drifting in the wind
Just a wanderer
gazing at the winter moon –
I’ll leave with no trace
Not fearing the cold
the flower gives her fragrance
to the winter wind
Winter night arrives…
in the candle’s flame I watch
my dreams burn alive
At forty-four
I’m no older than when
my heart was a child’s
In my heart a man
dreams his beloved kissing
his face like the dawn
Rooted in Love 