The Taoist Sage

Wandering Like Water

Sat down on cold stone steps
high on a mountain
in his plain clothes
he waits.

The wind brushes past him,
he hears it rustle
the silent leaves overhead
and he breathes in.

A water droplet falls from a leaf above,
drops onto his head,
runs down his face
and he breathes out.

A seed falls from a nearby tree,
bounces beside him
on the grey steps.




Now it is at rest.

Unlike the world around them.
Out of sight.
Out of mind.

He smiles
and bathes in a river
that he cannot see.

A short poem I wrote that I hope is enjoyable and not too prose-y.

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