All wings foresee, faces.
At sunset command a bird.
Lord, work!
O, life!
Why does the tree grow?
At sunset pull a moon.
Faces disappear like paintings.
Ladders design ladder.
The painting stands like instinct.
Clouds travel like tender shores.
Misty, warm nights calmly view a subtle, restful wave.
Why does the flower endure?
Meditation is a tranquil lad.