By time’s river, being a silent watcher.
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Falling blossoms are another beginning.
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When in bloom, a sight; when fallen, a poem.
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Life may dim, yet glimmers always remain.
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While the wind rises again.
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No need to chase the stars—let them come.
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Go where the mountain is, no need to say what it is.
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The call ended, words drifted into the static.
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Then, young and beautiful. Years later, even more so.
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The world is chaotic; I just watch.
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Like a firework, shining with all my life.
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