The last blossom.

Heavens blossom --from a tree in my Soul
A basketful of moons -- i harvest.
Fields of silence in which everything grows
And in silence grows -- the mountains meditating in the snow.

A Monk i am --in Saffron robes,
So your womanliness -- i leave in the shadows.
Though everything here whispers your name
Not a word shall be uttered, should i be heard again.

Years have passed --the tree has dried
Beautiful swans --in long wings go by
My robes are torn, my lips have sighed
Your face i long to see --before i die.