How Nice It Is
How nice it is to lie in bed
on a summer night with the windows open
and listen to the thunder far away
and listen to the thunder come closer
and see the lightening light up the sky
and then to lie in bed in the dark
and listen to the rain.
Oh, how nice it is to be alive and not dead
and to do this simple thing.
I've Given Up My Dreams of Fame and Fortune
My home is in the mountains far away.
No market forces here,
nor anyone or thing
of any importance at all.
Just clouds and trees,
my wood lot, gardens and
a couple pots of tea
every afternoon.
I've given up my dreams
of fame and fortune.
You can't have your cake
and eat it too.
Cut wood. Weed the beans.
Make love. Hill the potatoes.
Play a bamboo flute.
Maybe even listen for a poem.
budbill@wildblue.net
#13, The Zen Works of Stonehouse, p. 9