I know not the change
nights long or the sweating day's pain
Is it the moon’s peeping game
or the wildflower’s fragrance putting
Samsara to shame?
the flow of time and course
alters abruptly and ceaselessly moves
sometime letting the scarlet dusk
embrace me or often
leaving the stars in jealousy
while the dewy drops sparkle
momentous fancies dreaming of being real
on the sandy shores
when our intertwining fingers and seashells will play.