The morning rain,
falling like threads of sorrow.
The leaves of the bamboo grass
rustle in the spring breeze .
I long for the mountains,
and the first kiss –
drenched with dew.
Lover, how long for you?
Who doesn’t know what I’m talking about?
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 