Japanese garden

By

What gentle priest first paused to dream Of cherry bough and crystal stream, Of maple tree and flowering plum And yellow faced chrysanthemum? Where rock and tree and each detail Of curve and line is drawn to scale, A world of timeless artistry That breathes of living poetry; Where time itself has scarcely moved As though it long ago approved This tranquil place that could assuage A troubled heart in any age, And hush the mind's anxiety Within a world of symmetry.

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