Meeting you is like spring water reflecting pear blossoms,
Seeing you is like the chirping of cicadas accompanying the summer,
Thinking of you is like a thousand arrows piercing my heart,
Remembering you is like the spring breeze brushing the mountain ridge,
Watching you is like fireworks illuminating the world,
The poems I write for you,
Last for a thousand years,
Known by all,
But only the title remains.
A door stands quiet, out of sight,
Its edges lined with silver light.
It hums a tune both soft and low,
Of secret lands the brave may know.
I am from coffee beans,
from bitter brews and cracked porcelain mugs.
I am from the steamed soy eggs,
the scent that clings to mornings
like an old, Chinese dwelling.
Lights aglow on Christmas morn,
Laughter and joy in moments reborn.
Love fills the air as stories are shared,
A day of warmth, with hearts unprepared.
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