View From My Window
The Haunted Blossom
Ode to the bright starry skies and moving limbs,
our sob of woe have not been terminated.
We force ourselves to obligate when there
are no obligations, we see the sight
of the setting sun the branch moves
in the windless trees;
clouds move gently in
the rain. The blossom of the woods wave
to me as I walk down
the path to the haunted mansion;
it looks so spooky to me. I wonder
if the old woman who haunted it thirty
thousand years ago is still there;
she gets cranky in the afternoons.
Sometimes the curtains are found unhinged,
and the bird bath is spilled over onto
the lawn.
our sob of woe have not been terminated.
We force ourselves to obligate when there
are no obligations, we see the sight
of the setting sun the branch moves
in the windless trees;
clouds move gently in
the rain. The blossom of the woods wave
to me as I walk down
the path to the haunted mansion;
it looks so spooky to me. I wonder
if the old woman who haunted it thirty
thousand years ago is still there;
she gets cranky in the afternoons.
Sometimes the curtains are found unhinged,
and the bird bath is spilled over onto
the lawn.
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The Haunted Blossom
The Haunted Blossom
