A bird half wakened in the lunar noonSang halfway through its little inborn tune.
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To the birds you gave songs, the birds gave you songs in return. You gave me only a voice, yet asked for more, thus I sing.
Once we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.
I dwell with a strangely aching heart In that vanished abode there far apart.
I hope to leave behind a few poems it will be hard to get rid of.
A poem begins with a lump in the throat; a homesickness or a love sickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
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