Skip to main content
Author
High rises the Eastern Peak
Soaring up to the blue sky.
Among the rocks — an empty hollow,
Secret, still, mysterious!
Uncarved and unhewn,
Screened by Nature with a roof of clouds.
Times and Seasons, what things are you
Bringing to my life ceaseless change?
I will lodge for ever in this hollow
Where Springs and Autumns unheeded pass.
Rate this poem
No votes yet
Reviews
No reviews yet.