Come to the land of hospitality.
Give us a chance to put your stress at ease,
And you may ask where lies our fealty,
And all we say is that we wish to please.
There’s not much that we ask for in return
Except that you respect our traditions.
You may think there is much we need to learn,
And that we may lack certain ambitions,
But do not be fooled by our “poverty”.
That is no indication of our pride,
For our focus is not monetary.
We do not need that demon by our side.
Understand that not every nation
Shares in your money driven vision.
I am told to beware of the greener grass,
For I will always chase after the dream
Of belonging to a happier class,
And life is not as bad as it would seem.
What these naysayers don’t like to admit
Is green will eventually turn to brown,
And the place that you used to think was it
No longer holds the prestigious renown.
It does not matter how much you will try
To revive the grass to greener color,
For it is already destined to die,
And it is time to look for another.
Don’t be afraid to hop over the fence
When the time comes to depart from hence.
How do you know that you have overstayed?
Will the little hint dropped be evident?
Has strain caused the relationship to be frayed
Because you stood still when you should have went?
Will the anger held begin to fester,
Boiling within each other’s recesses?
Is it our patience that we will muster
When all that we see are the excesses?
It is probably best that we part ways
To explore life’s new experiences.
These memories will take the time of days
To wash away our hateful expenses.
We should not live of lives with this regret,
So I will take my final bow and get.
You look like nothing more than mere ridges
From the distance where my seat is now at,
And the small twigs I see must be bridges,
Crossing over where the water was spat.
The ground is covered with powdered sugar,
Enticing me with this earthly dessert.
If I could just reach down with my finger,
I could taste the confectionary dirt,
But the breeze blows in the cotton candy,
Obscuring my view of what is below.
I hold in my head, those dreams, so dandy
Of the plane’s cooking television show.
During my trip, it is hard to compete
With the view I see from my window seat.
I know that we are facing our winter,
But the turn of the world has reached spring,
So let’s put behind us all that’s bitter,
And go out and enjoy the blossoming.
We will welcome the rest of the city
As we venture beyond our hobbit hole.
The people will let us join their party
Even though we move only at a stroll.
White will not longer have a bitter chill
As it clings to the tips of the branches.
Guiding our path, we will hear the sweet trill
Of the returning, forgotten finches.
Come my dear, for it may be the last time
we can witness the changing of the clime.
Listen as the wind runs through the cedars,
Telling tales of the Shogun who fought here.
They came to pay respect to respect to their leaders,
And to console them from their greatest fear.
The land was torn apart from civil war
As the blood of men stained the frozen ground.
Many sacrifices were lost to lore,
And only the cedars could hear their sound.
After all the monuments have been built,
And the tourists have come to take their pictures
No on will remember the life blood spilt
Except for the wind running through the cedars.
Will you stop to listen to the tale told,
And the numerous lesson that they hold.
The tourists just do not come anymore,
So it’s not worth our time to open shop.
Instead, let us work our way to the shore,
Letting our responsibilities drop.
Though the winter winds will still sting our face
As it tumbles down from the mountain top,
It portends the coming of summer’s race
When we can reap the green holiday crop.
But the moment now is for us to share
As we can pretend that the word did stop,
Gifting us with more time than we can spare,
Knowing that one day this leisure will pop.
It goes against all Capital reason
To enjoy the fruits of the mud season.