The ceiling, floor, and walls are white in coal Mines, dusted to keep down the carbon dust That could explode. The men dig out this hole
His stomach rumbled, but he had to goTo his next stop — it was a little shopThat sold mere flowers, nick-knacks. In the flowFrom shop to shop, he wished that he could drop
Mandala stopped and watched the protest forA while, and read the signs demanding more:more social justice and more distributionOf wealth. Mandala thought, ‘Here’s much confusion.’“My friends,” he said. “Do you not know that wealthCan never be distributed? No healthCan be…
The old man sits on his front porch. He willNot sell the wooden birds he carves or treesHe started in his back yard. Cold winds chill Him though he wears a sweater in the breeze — A sweater that his wife made him but canNot sell out of their home. The check they getIs not enough — a little more would fanA…
I’m here to help because I love you so.
You don’t know me. Go help the one you know.
I love you for you are one of mankind.
That’s saying you can see when you are blind.
A mist sprays out upon this woodAnd lays among trunks dark with living.A rush of blossoms burst, a goodAnd worthy show of this world’s giving.
The neighbor to the right of meHas hacked off all the limbs on all his trees -He’s happy that he now is freeOf all the leafy mess in the Fall breeze.
The forest fills with underbrush, dead-Wood tangling even shrew legs, tiny bonesThe evidence, if you could see them. Red,Burned in the sun, the grass dries on the stones.
The wise sunflower nods toward the sun — Its arc is eminently rational — As is the tastiness of its ripe seeds,Seductive kernel in the striped hull —