The Village On the Water Iii

Shallow-pitched tiled rooftops sparkle vividly When lavishly sprinkled with needle-shaped grains Of shattered mutton-fat nephrite; There, clinging forlornly against the hanging grey Smoke, tinged with barely noticeable trace of mauve, Dawdling lazily in the stilled air, residue from Remnant of mist inclined to prolong and hesitate; Continues to resist...almost as if were a Wearisome, overstaying guest too reluctant to leave. Our snug, rested houses: how they are adapted to speak So ably of themselves...such a fulfilling contentment; Within, securely ensconced, crammed lives fully Busied with common endeavour. Could an ideal be any more perfect than this? Then recalling the words of Master Kong:- "Everything has beauty...but not everyone sees it." Which, undeniably, is very true. They who do not see The appealing loveliness and intrinsic functionality of Purposeful lines, are, indeed, the lesser for the want Of what, in essence...is nothing more than a learned Awareness. At these precious moments ones beset spirit Is reinforced against the day's coming labours; He is further encouraged by thoughts of his Fussing wife attending her dutiful stove; Her ostentatious lips, shapely hips made wider by Childbirth... For is this not the most natural function of All women? Apart from menial, repetitive tasks of course. Laozi full well knew the supposed crimes of A woman. He would tell you to only beat her with a stick As thick as your middle finger. "Not so hard! you fool", he would have said. "Do you not need her for more work?" "Besides...you might break a good stick". However, one must be cautioned to try and remember:- "If there is beauty in the person...there will Be harmony in the house". But I still fully intend to keep my stick! It is slim and supple and is pleasingly fashioned In the right-made way; A willowy semblance of a virtuous wife in Former flush of nubile youth; A sharp reminder for the values of obedience and Honour...would that she should ever forget. Sun breaks! Hoisted square canvas. Soon, an irregular blob reduced to a tiny speck Charting its way between glimmer and glint; At times, sliding out of view into shimmering and Dazzling from low blinding glare -- hiding and confusing; Then, flashing sunbeams suddenly revealing up... Before skipping and darting away, As gleefully as a loosed hare, across The glassed, hollowing emptiness of this vast, Reverberating, convex-sphere; And everyone his own favoured place for each Changeable day of each changing season. Distant shouts. Excitable voices. Men busily employed At their daily work. My own drawing net boiling and frantic with the Bumping from darting, silvered fish; For it is certain that all peasants are born to work... Just as the oxen is born to haul: for is this not Our rightfully inherited karma? Sun Tzu instructs us that a man has to Willingly accept his station in life; Knowing what is required of his own situation Is to find reassurance in the heavens. And in Celestial Heaven the Jade Emperor counting The passing of each mortal life... As if they were spent, detached leaves dropping From the Sacred Peach Tree.