On the border of the meadow
There they stand, there they grow.
Their clustered lush green blades
Provide creatures with perfect shades.
They stand so grand and high
Lifting prayers to the highest sky.
Still, their heads go bow down
To stoop on that leveled ground.
How pliant are the bamboos
To take each raging blow. They choose
to bend and sway in unison
Than face the winds head on.
For it is when they dance and bend
From strongest winds they can defend.
Unlike pompous trees that stand firmly
Won't break and tumble easily.
I wish I could be as pliant as the bamboo
To take each blow of trials that come thru.
To whatever heights I might become
Would learn to gaze upon the place I came from.
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Dear Poeter, Behind the sweet
Dear Poeter, Behind the sweet melody of the flutes, the cry of the bamboo forest is hidden. There are innumerable aesthetic perspectives on this earth. Even the stories of the times are being told man to man by the sacrifice and vigor of the bamboo through the real events of life. Bamboo forests as a living portrait of music in green mane. All The Best My Dear Friend; Write More Congratulations
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