Thus bending upon pages of legendary lore;
preserved long before the echos could fade.
“Tis a plague which we must strive to cure!”
Yosoji spoke of thoughts which mortal lips
left half untold. Hence began his search for
bourn which flowed from the southwestern
side of Mount Fuji.
Amidst the coppice emerged a goddess; her
voice served as music soft to his aching ears.
Hence the youth was led to cure; thus ardent
prayers rose from core. Years after as riposte
thru the evening’s sopping mist; grew shoots
of wildest pink camellia.
Lo single crust was meagre fare;
Seishin thus recherche and rare.
Photo credits: www.pinterest.com
Dark Poetry for Cruellest Month