A tired man's Bowl,
Full of dust ,
coming of waves ,
Incessant crest,
of His passionate waste .
From door to door,
tree to tree,
like a sage he moves,
A sage who knows too much.
But the passions yet unburnt .
the tapering leaves,
Moon peaks through ,
Mercurial ,silvery flash.
Into the tired mans bowl
is now a haunting scroll.
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