At the ancient homes of velvet-furred ferrets.
A wet rain ponders black and fleeting laughter,
As the sunset quivers in the pond's water.
My heart aches for dancing - not weeping to the moon.
As the wind dwells in frozen anguish from wildfire.
A field of blue thistle emanates purple mountains.
As the pond reflects the dew drops of barren laughter.
Shall not the morning hold meetings on the home's demise?
Be always safe,
Karen