an old writer and his words

On the steps of the Templethe unexpected morning snowwhich cast a threadbare blanketover the gates and lanternsrecedes slowly like a supplicantwhose prayers have been offered.The candle flames shiverin the strong February windwhile the Buddha sits, implacable.In the park below a dragon kitetakes the wind and swoops and dartshigher and higher, staring downat the Temple and…