The door opens a crack
thin stream of light -
a spider preparing its web.
Beneath this moon
a peony flower -
the heart sings for both.
A butterfly
opening its wings in the sun,
where do we go from here?
No other visitors
the verandah is empty -
just the wind, moss
and stones
for company.
From some place
far distant
children's voices -
coming home again.
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