The moon stands on a stump
like a crowing rooster
Such things happen often
before the dawn breaks, trees have been cut down
Silent void is so pale
Adjusting the mood, then look again
you might say, Calla’s innermost words
are so lovingly touching
smoothening the pain of losing foliage
Sometimes, the virtual is not distorted
You perceive, then you exist
You interpret, then you grow beauty
If you have tried to follow the scene
imagine a conversation touching the heart
unfolds in life under the moon
The two sides of talkers
can be moon and tree stump
can be you and another person
or can be just yourself as well
The moon is not in the water, but on the stump
This scene is lighted by a candle
Moonlight candle will not be blown off
Despite life often shows the brutal deforestation
there will be a gentle healing
Your occasional glance
will touch the silver hope
A battered tree, covering its wounds
gently cries out: moon, moon
Thus, the moon comes
Such a thing, you cannot say never happen
Witnessing such an intimate embrace
you are tempted to say
the moon is a new growth bud from the stump