You see the monk stroll by,
Hands held together in soft whispered prayer.
He is lost amongst the busy body marketplace.
He is the contradictory of his surroundings;
calm, serene, tranquil.
His bald head held high,
With a giving smile spread across his face.
His orange robes fall creasedupon his lithe form.
The wrinkles at his eyes
tells the wisdom they percieve.
With every blink and every bow of his head,
his knowledge broadens.
His cunning eyes see all;
the helpful child on the street;
the rushing business men;
and the burdened mothers.
Beyond the people; the market place,
he sees cherry blossoms and
a thread of water spilling between rocks
to pool at a great willow tree.
He sees Buddha beckoning him.
To sit him and share the serenity together.
You see the monk stroll by,
with his eyes in the clouds and his feet on the ground.