morning in ohara
deep inside a sleeping forest
cedars thick and green
conceal an ancient temple
the chill air trembles with the peel of bells in the misty distance
as if on cue
the morning sun
creeps over the strong dark mountains
and wakes
the little birds
to the morning
and the business of the day
the warm sun strikes the dewdrops
and they sparkle
like diamonds
rising to their feet
deer make their way
(as the breezes do
on this shimmering new day)
down the golden valley
to the river
© Owen Smith 1996