Shadows — A Poem
The Moon is bright, gleaming gold,
In its prime,
Casting great dark shadows,
The shadows of great banyans and oaks,
Their leaves dangle carefree in the light of the moon,
Casting rustling shadows on the ground.
The wind blows a playful tune,
On the fresh young leaves,
While death’s bell is rung for the pale old ones,
That slowly detach themselves,
And gently swirl downward,
To kiss the cool, dark earth.
The black cloaked night,
Gently covers the expanse,
Of sky and earth,
With strong, wide arms
The secret scent of wild jasmine,
Haunts the still darkness.
Yet watch the death of the leaves,
That have now died of old age.
So too, shadows grow old,
When the sun in his blazing chariot arrives
On the horizon.
The shadows of the night die a dismal death.
Gives birth shadows of the day.
This goes on and on,
In endless cycles,
But man has to leave, go his own WAY.
Choose his eternal path
He can never stay!