The SpringThere is a hidden spring beneath the stonesDark green tea leaves would not be as barenOver thirty moons have filled the dark azureSince cool water flowed gracefully from itLong has it waited for the right momentThe deceitful sun sank behind the MountainsAnd the spring once again began to flowBetween the light gray stones that had caged themEven if one were to drink the fresh waterThey would find it to be bitter and sweet
The moonCan I only watch the ever flowing moon upon the waves?Or will the night come where the moon is truly in my own hands.How sad it is that the moon pulls me towards its surface above,But that I cannot bring it down below with me on the sands?
My Own TykeMy Own TykeHow wonderful it is to have a dogThat is loyal and kind enough to hug,Cuddle, and sleep peacefully like a log.This simple joy in life makes one feel smug.It is sad, however, that this will not last,Because such pet belongs to another.No matter what, I will never go askIf I can steal him away to smother.Watching the pooch play from both far and nearIs more than enough fulfill my ownJoy. It is sad to not call him dear,But I'll be fine just giving him a bone. Eventually I will go and find My very own dog that is just as kind.