The waterlily pond has long since
gone dry and overgrown with weeds.
I stand on the deck this evening beside
what used to be it's water's edge.
It is dripping diamonds on it's
rain wet leaves with the moon and
stars; I see an armadillo appear from
it's den of darkness to drink of the
dew and wake from it's day of hidden
sleep. At that very moment I wake for-
ever from my own sleep of the world.