Sweeping Leaves
No coins to buy my firewood,
I sweep up leaves, sell them in the temple town,
leaf on leaf precious as yellow gold,
pile on pile with a beauty of red brocade.
I chide myself for dreaming of warm knees,
long for their beauty to cheer my cold heart.
Back from town I light the stove, sit by it,
listening to drops of rain on the stairs.
I sweep up leaves, sell them in the temple town,
leaf on leaf precious as yellow gold,
pile on pile with a beauty of red brocade.
I chide myself for dreaming of warm knees,
long for their beauty to cheer my cold heart.
Back from town I light the stove, sit by it,
listening to drops of rain on the stairs.
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