Handed Down Quietly
I listen to a song, cleaning a room
my granma says this song sounds good
she makes Sunday lunch
I say this tastes good
she says my clothes are cool
I say they are new
she says she always has liked the colors I am wearing
summer comes around
the green grows in the garden as usual
I trim
she has set a bamboo fan
I use it, hanging a wind-bell my grandpa bought
it rings fine as it sounds, exactly the same as he used to hear
I always have imagined a mutual sense transfers to each other
I will wake up tomorrow
smelling green onion for Miso-Soup for breakfast
poem by Wabi Sabi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
