find always the way to fuse the time in the <br />memory of what is genuine, neither the season <br />of the beginning dew welcome the horizon <br />of the infinite reality of being <br /> <br />let the flower bloom in what is the given <br />memory of each birth, all have just come the <br />wonderful day of what is today, see the hold <br />on movement of what the wonderful stream <br />the river full <br /> <br />gallops the sky, for the rain waited to long, the <br />weathering flower has fall into the ground and <br />rejuvenate the meaning of life, stay where the <br />olden passion of the heart, for what meant to <br />be with you tell forever, looks forward the <br />ending of what thirst in a given time <br /> <br />ending have nothing to say the beginning of <br />every fog in early morning ……<br /><br />Antonio Liao<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sword-of-the-spirit/
