Walking on the ridge of the night mountains,
I feel an old and distant song,
a pale green suffuses and her pink and amber shines pierce through,
when I come upon a monastery wall with a tree on top, its roots embedded on both sides, stretching down, deep, firmly into the ground.
Justly there did the seed fall,
from atop of there his fellow brothers on both sides he can see,
but to none does he belong.
Oh! Oh! solitary tree, the moon bathes all in a silvery white.
I feel an old and distant song,
a pale green suffuses and her pink and amber shines pierce through,
when I come upon a monastery wall with a tree on top, its roots embedded on both sides, stretching down, deep, firmly into the ground.
Justly there did the seed fall,
from atop of there his fellow brothers on both sides he can see,
but to none does he belong.
Oh! Oh! solitary tree, the moon bathes all in a silvery white.
By
Artemio also known as Juan...the dhammabum from mexico.
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