The Sage

Dry weatherbeaten exterior

May hide oasis of an interior

Where thoughts come to subside

Their roots having dried

A true sage will hide

Taking everything in stride

Decorations removed

Remaining unmoved

By pleasure and flattery

Or pain and misery

In depths, they don’t matter

Impermanence will shatter

A true sage can never die

Shedding skin, they’re free to fly

Becoming silent workers

Following nature’s holy orders