One morning I woke up when the word “anemone” came to mind. I thought what a lovely word is that. I may write a poem about it someday. A few minutes later the word “pagoda” came up. Then I knew I had to write a poem about an anemone and a pagoda. I started on it right away.
A discarded anemone floating on a pond
languishes beneath the shadow of a pagoda.
Pondering over its reflection and towering
to the starry sky, the pagoda scarcely
notices the anemone.
The pond, forever serene, gently lets
the flower drift away out of the shadow.
A woman stoops by the brink of the pond,
picks up the anemone and takes it home.
She puts it in a bowl of water by her bed
for her lover to notice in case he should
want to meet again.
The pond gazes at stars with the pagoda’s
long shadow glimmering through the night.