Kyoto: At the Detached Palace
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Struck by the soft look Of stone in rain, wet lake, By the single evergreen Wavering deep therein, Reluctantly I sense All that the garden wants To have occur. Part of me smiles, aware That the stone is smiling Through its tears, while Touched by early frost Another part turns rust- Red, brittle, soon To be ferried down Past where paths end And the unraked sand Long after fall of night Retains a twilight.
