Vietnam

In the bowl of life, a stew
Is steaming up to greet in air,
All that passes with the breeze,
To follow in a waft, to bear

The brunt of storms and beating,
The thunder and a zag of light,
To give of warm and mellow greeting,
To bring lost hope to sight.

With senses meek and blinkered,
Man stands atop the range,
And aches to catch a glimpse
Of the breeze of another age,

Whose aroma is akin
To petals of rose alight,
Whose gentle grace and beauty
Brings meaning to his plight.