Prone in the heat,
just the hose for relief
between the shed and the pear,
sweet rotting fruit
and the dolor of wasps
are the scent and the mood of deceit.
Injustice basks in the glare.
Spite is the day's corrugation.
Give it up if you can,
trade scorn for compassion,
be true to your own inner nature.
—with a line by Deng Ming-Dao
