July 20^th, 2021

Old Pine

Thunder and lightning don’t dare topple you;
Scales and wrinkles—power over ten thousand things.
Wood grubs die in your wasted joints;
Snakes coil in your rotten roots.
A shadow is cast, soaking a monk’s meditation;
A sound carries, chilling a dream of cranes.
On any night of wind and rain,
Ghosts and spirits must be watching.