Waxwings
Four Tao philosophers as cedar waxwings
Chat on a February berry bush
In sun, and I am one.
Such merriment and such sobriety
The small wild fruit on the tall stalk
Was this not always my true style?
Above an elegance of snow, beneath
A silk-blue sky a brotherhood of four
Birds. Can you mistake us?
To sun, to feast, and to converse
And all together for this I have abandoned
All my other lives.
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