Interlude

One shooting star
In the black, empty skies,
Lights up the waters from afar
In a myriad of colours and dies.

Below the weeping willow
Many dansing flames
Cast on the bark a shadow,
Whorls and patterns of burning stems.

Along the stream of purple water
Lies the body of a thousand stars,
Bursting shimmers that falter
As the sun rises above the misty hours.



Simple words make simple poems in a language that is not I.