Painting roses
Leaves might be hard
But thorns hurt
The moon does not care
Being gazed at or not
Resting in herself
Between the graves
A Buddha keeping the watch
Fragrance of incense
Thunderstorm passing
Ground is heating up again
Cicadas chirping
Abandoned tea hut
Tokonoma left empty
A creeper in bloom
As if
The spider in the net
Was listening to music
Siesta past noon
Feet on the cool wooden bench
Cat's purring
.
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