A basket of verses,

Once opening the door,
Found a simple cane basket
Full of flowers
And a few verses,

Flowers like them
Seen I at the Lake Market,
But verses,
Saw them nowhere around,

Kept the cane basket
And those flowers
Knowing blossoms of the season
Might get withered,
Much like that Van Gogh's picture,

But those verses,
Kept them not locked,
For they needed no such possession,
Those verses
Kept them not for me,
Kept them under no lock and key,

Just let them be blown
Just let them be blown...