poem

A decade passed
Dreaming to be a poet
In this summer
Where words chirp and fly
 
And summer passed
Weaving the lines and rhythm
In this eye
Where world glow with countless fireflies.
 
I never know when it arrives
But it has left a memoir
Before I could prepare a proper greet
With my spirit elated
 
high as rained cloud
to clear the view of my first mountain
so majestic, so white, so brilliant
as a joyous chest bursting.