Bodhisattva
Harpies flyin' south too tired and cold
to harass the immoral Greek warriors
engulf a majestic oak, gold-yellow leaves
fallin'
down, one by one
our ground's no longer green but
we still tread it
Look--
I've been sustaining on rice grains
fruit and a swig or two of
dharma each day
can I fly with them
yet?
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