Buddhist Fly

 

buddha

 

We drove to the Buddhist temple

At sunset.

A hot breeze blew in

From the north.

Clouds of insects rose

In reverence.

One, a fly, landed on my nose

And would not

Go away.

I gave it the good old Aussie salute

A few times

To no avail,

Making me wonder whether

One should swat

A Buddhist fly

Or merely contemplate it?

The Buddha looked on.

 

 

 

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