Mysticism and wonder between the pink of spring


    From its warm days and cold nights, a summer to bring


    The direction given, to a temple most magnificent, led me toward


    A structure made of skill and hands worthy to reshape its sturdy wood


    The old lady in the front noticed me in a state of confusion and anxiety


    A curious look and a chant taking both of them away


    Most inviting to a total stranger, and not a local as I gave not a clue


    Yet another language I fail to understand, before I started knowing of it too


    A worried elder not for anyone but the child who resides here resides


    Destiny playing a trick, hers and its fate to lead far from their life


    All the experiences I know that I will never once have myself


    Those and her worries she spoke of over tea grabbed from a cranky shelf


    Stolen novel; please report.


    My youth brought forth her true self as she tended to my needs with care


    Hospitality unwarranted, but her one guide, my road to here


    Years passed and not many but a few different souls came to visit


    The temple shut from the world and its numerous prying faces


    A bath, food, water and clothing all given one after the other for free


    It was a traveler, weary, broken and with pain of a recent memory she saw in me


    Admiration for the same commitment to a cause as the child she called hers


    And as time came to pass and the sun began to set, she reappears


    A bag heavy and overflowing of written papers


    A blade at hand and blood on her hands that thickens


    Piercing the soul, her gaze came up to me


    Seeing me in a different light, before scrutinizing


    Affiliations, abilities and a school group she wanted to know


    Anger filled her eyes when she thought a lie when my answers to all was told


    The old woman apologizing in her behalf


    She sat her down with me as she took away her blade and bag


    Wiping the blood off her hands she saw me unwavering to her intimidating posture


    A hint of respect came from her words as she told her tale of constant daily trouble


    Envying the freedom of a wanderer the chose not a moment to rest


    In her room she retreated to study before having to lay her head


    And that too, her day would not bring an end