“The Rose that blooms along the wall is a miracle” Thích Nhất Hạnh
The wall is old and crumbling,
Soft loden moss holds it together
but the cracks grow larger,
Soon it will fall.
The season’s last snow
sprinkles white on the moss covered wall
that stands as it’s stood for a hundred years;
it does not rely on my faith to endure.
My face wears the traces
of many frowns, Self-centered
and drowning in sorrow,
I am blind to the sun on the wall.
Just six weeks since snow fell
in April, The earth is splashed
with the sparkle of June, The rose
that blooms along the wall is a miracle.
Moss grows thick on the wall.
Gnarled stems remember the flowering.
Autumn tinges the air. We will rest
when the harvest is in.