The clouds and birds are talking of love

A cold wintry wind,
in a good mood.
‘Let’s go out”
you said.
And see the
writing on the wall.
With the frost
on my pillow.
I saw you as
my survival –
the first great Buddha.
Drinking the
morning green tea,
and dressed in
woven winter hats.
We put our hands together.
An old poet with lover,
walking around.
There is no obstacle.

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