Metamorphosis

From mountains high to valleys low,

Of raging sun to moon's gentle glow.

From buds to flowers to seeds,

Chasing butterflies, gaily caressing the wind.

Take them yet, in yonder fields,

A kid once, innocent and lively,

Oft dreaming impossible dreams.

Then a lad, full of life and poesy,

Then, here and beyond,

Three waves of decade swept.

On that distant hill, butterflies swarm still,

Rushing no more, pondering all.

Only one, ah! all it takes.

Eventide

01 Thlaṭau, 2024