The last I checked the land was still bereft
The heavy hanging trees still mourned their leaves
And the clouds snowed their pity
On the ground slushed with wet.
The last I checked mountains did not forget
To remove the white caps from their heads
And let their silver tears run streaming down:
a respect for the yearly young.
The last I checked the rice paddies were still frozen,
The babbling creeks still unemployed.
The wind had lost neither its bite nor bark
And the seeds lay unsown.
The last I checked the dragon had not turned its head
And cast its eyes on our stagnant skies.
The rains had not turned gentle,
Nor gray turned green, alive.
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