(Ikebana) For Jean and Maureen

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Moribana

Autumn, and a charcoal fire is lit in a sunken hearth,

We walk across the rime encrusted grass, respectfully early.

We bow before the winter scene depicted on the scroll;

The aroma of roasted barley meditates through the Shoji.

Summoned by our host, we seek purification by washing our hands

and rinsing our mouths in water from an earthenware jar.

Removing our shoes, we lower ourselves as we pass through the small aperture,

and sit on the Tatami — eldest first, youngest last.

The door clunks shut, alerting our host, who enters and answers questions

Shoreditchpoet

Local poet/writer. ‘There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self.’ E. Hemingway

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