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.