Journal & MusingsTen Bulls

VI. Riding The Bull Home


Mounting the bull, slowly I return homeward.
The voice of my flute intones through the evening.
Measuring with hand-beats the pulsating harmony,
I direct the endless rhythm.
Whoever hears this melody will join me.

This struggle is over; gain and loss are assimilated.
I sing the song of the village woodsman, and play the tunes of the children.
Astride the bull, I observe the clouds above.
Onward I go, no matter who may wish to call me back.


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