In handy bowls, a world contained,
A miniature tree, carefully trained.
With patient hands, the artist’s touch,
Shapes the small tree, so grand.
A bonsai’s grace, a quiet art,
A silent story, nature’s heart.
Each twist and turn, each curve so fine,
A timeless dance, for souls to align.
From China’s soil, its roots did rise,
Through centuries, beneath vast skies.
To Japan it came, where it took its place,
A living art, a serene embrace.
With care and hands, the artist bends,
As nature’s form and craft both blend.
A thousand years in inches small,
The grandeur of the mighty tall.
In World War's dark wake, it stood so still,
Surviving the atom bomb, with strength and will.
A tree that endured, free from all hate,
Japan’s sweet revenge, a gentle gift to the US.
Through seasons’ change, it stands serene,
A living sculpture, poised and keen.
In pots so small, yet life abounds,
A silent whisper, peace resounds.
A living dream beneath the skies,
Your spirit soars, though small your size.
In bonsai’s roots, the world we see,
A timeless bond, you set us free.
Poetic Reflections of a Crazy Soul
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