The wound brook

 

In the beginning, it was difficult to say

what was to say -

unfolding flower of poetry

attended of the little dark ink-stains.

 

The dropping cloud glided so reluctantly,

carefully and timidly;

the leaves developed

about the little blue puddles only hesitantly.

 

The significant and obstructive beginning,

nearly too hesitant,

made the sweet nectar pleasantly smell

over the wound trace of the signs.