Once of an early morning as dawn was
breaking beyond the surrounding mountains
bringing light to the land of the exotic East
we heard the sonorous murmur of the
tonsured monks seen in devout prayer
the night before resounding softly from
the hills above drifting down to where we
delicately trod the stones carefully placed to
confine a brook gently moving its lucent
journey through the serene garden of the
monastery above, glistening golden carp
lazily drifting within the pellucid waters
taking no notice of the ubiquitous stone forms
strewn here and there, the child-like figure
of the Jizo Buddha knitted-bonnet-capped
baby toys and baby garments by their side
mournfully grieving the loss of those
whose births were apprehended in a recall
of the mysterious ways of nature's promise.
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