Mount Fuji dominates the quiet landscape,
A savage white god breaking through the sward
From the shadow lands,
The ring of molten stones
Buried deep beneath the fields and houses,
The plum trees bright with flowers.
Several times a day the pathway shudders
Beneath the sandalled feet of the travellers
Reminding them that all they see is frail, is transient,
Even the savage white god
Shimmering in the sun.
From time to time they stop by the waters edge
To watch a boat slowly drifting by,
The oarsman standing tall, alert as a watchful heron.
Far to the south, on the edge of the inland sea,
The Naruto whirlpools roar between two shores.
The oarsman will never sail his boat that far,
He has other things on his mind.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 17th. 2021.
Hiroshige Prints, Poem No.4. The month of April.
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