godspeed you mighty empress
nothing at all is born,
dies, the shell says again and
again from the depth of its hollowness.
Its body swept off by tide — so what? It sleeps
in sand, drying in sunlight, bathing in moonlight.
Nothing to do with sea or anything else.
Over and over it vanishes
with the wave.
just be still
The fun of roaming free
is endless, hard to exhaust. When tired
I sit on a mossy bank, unaware of the cold sun falling
in my love for the cool of the breeze in the pines. Deer descend
to drink of the valley streams; monkeys arrive to pick of
the mountain fruits. What I originally valued were
freedom and quietude; why should
I require that people
know of me?