Realization

A pleasing fragrance from an altar
the mountain top temple.
The old priest incense is burned in worship.
His chant of Sutra floating in the wind
like an old mother's lullaby.
The saffron robe waves over the thatched house
and the bell tolls with the moon set.
I thought the time has come
and I take his place when he leaves.

poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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