WebPoems

How much like rocks these frozen waves

Churned out by the mill owner's wheel,

Tumbling water in its wooden troughs,

Tilting, letting more spill out, like hair,

Then, settling down to the channel, pouring

Everything downstream, the mill roof thatched oddly

To keep rain off the grinding stone, and grain,

Hauled by those men struggling up the path,

Just behind the women gathering water in buckets,

And the curious boy, staring at this chaos

That never ends, just goes on foaming,

And tumbling, and hissing, as his turtle

Tugs, to get away. How calm, now, against this work,

The distant snows of Mount Fuji.