A quiet book of words, from a lonely man in his room Her tiny voice, like pebbles rolling down a stream, surrounded by pines Sand between her toes, humming a song her mother used to sing, forgot the words Holding my head in your arms, blue little room, listening to the wind chimes Your bamboo forest, outside this ***** window, full of ladybugs & grasshoppers Green grass drying to hollow shells, snapped off by careless hands Brushed away by gentle winds, spread among limestone & juniper Standing barefoot on the paving stones, her toenails painted yellow with black dandelions A sip of iced tea, lemon, a bite of steamed rice Trying to put a few thoughts together, letting the day simmer down We'll sit together a while longer, listen to the crickets in the bamboo Waiting, quietly waiting on your voice, the only thing that keeps me dreaming anymore
Amanda, a crazy collector of Vanda had such an intense dislike for Aranda she detested the ******, when making out in tandem her outdoor escapade once scared a Panda
Under the bamboo under the tree True loves forever True we will be And when we are married we will raise a family Under the shady bamboo tree As our little secret this bamboo tree will be the source of our love When you are alone just come here and Ill be there Under the shady bamboo tree
the dragonfly is on the tip still, as is the air and so the bamboo; and one observes what is before one not forming an image or opinion or an appreciation but one observes what is before one the dragonfly and the tip of the bamboo and the air and not even with names and there is but that
Bamboo shoots grow all two quickly only to diverge two soon. Resilience comes not easily but is learned, whether rooted in Earth, rock, sand we have learned to grow through our fears. Are the hazards of growth greater than the ease of departure? Keep this in mind, for I do two.
Us. That is something I will fight for, Planted shallow are the roots, sanguinely sowing steadier