One Monkey On a Branch

She sits on a branch

Lonely

She sees the flowers of her tree

Bloom and close

Seven times

The fruit

She has tasted

Six seasons of peaches

Can she taste her seventh?

She waits for them to ripen

So close now

She sees the pink

Creeping into the flower buds

Creeping away from her

Alas

She grows old

The flowers bloom

She withers

The peaches come to the branch

She gazes at them with dull eyes

At last!

The peaches are ripe

But the old monkey no longer sits

And the flowers bloom no more.