I'm so hollow said the tree
Can you see my bark...
The Monk at the Station
Sitting in gold
2 men by his feet
Their stories are told
Awaiting their meal
The Monk takes it first
Hands over a portion
For quenching their thirst
They play with their feet
Heads bowed to the floor
From train station windows
I'll say what I saw
They're keen to tuck in
And quietly rifle
Through bag after bag
Of some kind of trifle
Thank you they say
Hands touch, heads are lifted
Monk taking pride
For what he has gifted
Faces light up
They're fed for the day
He takes them away
For prayers they must pay
KF
...Twice shy said the leaves
Can you hear my sky
KF
Lake Wanaka, New Zealand
This dark brew has your name all over it, if you can handle its contents. A bit hot, boiling over faster than a mud pool... Another handle'll be needed for the tilt. So heady is this broth, it sinks another iceberg in Coffee Bay, triggering a tsunami siren from the trench. Desserted...
Affa-gotta-go, Ice-creams melting.