A poets feet clomping
under bare trees.
Wei river, faint-clutching
for support.
A dead fish,
face sickly white.
Dallying in plastic.
Cry of wild ducks,
scattering to an island.
These are the best
days of my life.
Essence of a Buddha
A Wandering Poet
As I walk around I like to record what I experience. Through poetry, ideas and thoughts I hope I can share some of these experiences with you.
A Wandering Poet 