Gracious Spoilage Poem by Antonio Liao

piece by piece rotten in the mud
wishing to be good
even it stuck to the ground, and
nothing seems important than a smell of
fume ready to be burn

courage takes always a cross
a burden to hold but staff to withstand
storm siege in every row; for with out
the bird that sings the emptiness of the
forest is seen

like wrinkles in the foreheads that
tell the ages of the cork, time passes by
yet the wind keeps on murmuring the
coming day

remain and be calm the spoilage
is gone, nay the springs wait the winter
to froze the water in the river...