A house. A green house upon a hill, hidden from downtown by tall bamboo Sprouts.…
Illness
Nausea swells up, like a balloon
No doctor can cure my illness
Only the titanic pines, reaching from above
The satisfying crunch of firm pine needles
Beneath my bare feet
A warm breeze wafting pleasant smells by my face
Only the crashing waves thundering to shore
A symphony of birds, calling down from above
The stars shining bright, guiding me back
The cold pine needles beneath my bare feet
There is no medicine for it,
No cure for homesickness,
Only the pine needles beneath my feet