Bonsai (forced perspective on a hillside)

Eye upon I
Sing praise as I spy
distant bonsai
up on high hill

Summoned up will
soon summons the thrill
as the chill of ink
sinks back into quill

Sails billow
as swell below pillow
Sleeper at slumber
beneath the most weeping willow

Metronomic beeping
echoes low over hill, owes
nothing to worship or warships or widows

So it goes
How it grows!
Just suppose this weren’t prose
But a juxtaposed juggling
of rhythms and flows

Listen close to the land
where the bonsai shows
Where a romantic Anglophone
savours aromatic rose

As arrow hit, the sun arose
followed close by a ruby, so truly it knows
That the billowing bonsai
borrows strength from the stones
which at length will give over
to what our forebears will own

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