Temple by the Sea

The pine trees bend, but do not break,

Their needles dance, their roots awake.

The garden stones, both smooth and wise,

Hold echoes of the shifting skies.

At dawn, the mist drapes o’er the land,

Cool fingers drawn by nature’s hand.

The koi drift slow in mirrored gold,

Beneath a world both new and old.

The temple bell, with voice so deep,

Calls out to those who wake from sleep.

Its sound dissolves in morning haze,

Like time itself, like fleeting days.

The wind moves through the hollow reeds,

It sings of life, it sings of need.

Yet here within, all wants are few—

The earth provides, the sky is blue.

A single monk sweeps fallen leaves,

Each stroke a gift, for none deceives.

To clear the path, to calm the mind,

To leave no trace, yet be aligned.

And when the dusk turns waves to ink,

The temple glows as lanterns blink.

The moon bows low, the tide retreats,

And silence reigns where land and sea meet.

So let the world’s great troubles be,

Beyond this shrine, beyond this sea.

For in the hush of salted air,

We walk, we breathe—we are, we were.