Hopeless
If flowers could cry,
Would the water out-spilled
Also drown them
Like a sloshing grave of
Wet mud?
Could the moon frown
And turn its face away
To sink slowly
Into space and float,
Being suffocated in strange darkness?
What if an anguished
Wolf turned its howls to
An empty sky
And a wandering deer
Preferred dry bark?
My dear, this is how I feel.
If I were foolish enough,
I would not stop waiting
For the moon and continue to
Plant my sorrowful flowers.
