Monday, April 14, 2008
Trees of pomelo shed their tattered leaves
Each time the snow-cold air begins to blow
Rouge gumamela petals just won’t grow
In piercing drops of silver rain that grieves.
Oh, younger have become the solemn eves
And yet, the poisoned waters cease to flow
The knitted cogon threads lament like crow
In want of traceless dew for thirsty sheaves.
Too jaded is this life I lead today,
Obscured by haze of my own solitude
So sad I go for you’re away from view
Even lovely music shortens its stay.
This parting never does me any good;
Home isn’t home unless I am with you.