Sonnet

The flock that is your heritage.
With meadow land all around.
We wilt under the demanding adding inbox, yet forget what stays from age to age.
What is rooted in timeless nature is truly sound.

Yesterday we lit a bonfire on the garden.
The smoke rose, the great mound of old twigs dissolved.
I sat in the cool spring day, the fire was intense, golden.
Time just was, who cares that no problems had been solved.

And that vast pile of garden rubbish.
Reduced to a clean white circle of ash.
So our own bodies and life passes and will diminish.
Cleaned, washed, pampered and burnished, then so much rotting trash.

But the cleansing bonfire was beautiful.
For what we have been, we always should be grateful.

Haiku

The cleansing bonfire
Golden beautiful then ash
Like our passing lives