Too much soy sauce forms a mellow pool,
Impotent in its frozen time to through the rolls,
Until with pace it rends the corner small,
But not enough to stem its rush,
So foists upon the world its virile gall,
The chaos dashed on ordered thread,
A salty smell for unshed tears instead.

Vibrant are the flowers,
Making bright the hazy sky,
The freshness of the learned trees,
Suspended in the air like heaping autumn piles,
Away to peaceful gravestones in the eve.

Tunnels come and cloak the train,
To mirrors turn the windowpanes,
In shadows cast they show the same
Brothers sitting waiting still,
One observing while the other chills,
And out we come from tunnels drilled,
Into the open sky alight,
Dressed up in striking red tonight,
And it falls away beneath the trees.