Jade Lotus Autumn Nights --ChiAn Why, the dogs are not barking? Why, the monks are not praying? Why, the frogs are not sleeping? Why, the birds are not bleeding? These, the questions of Plato's kid, Staring into the glacier night, Dangling a pen over the paper unicorn ship mast, A hungry moon hanging over his brain tumor, It was told, he wouldn't make the next May, A sundry physician diagnosed, it was terminal. For a moment, he was shocked, but he learned quickly. Being the son of a pioneer philosopher, He understood more about death, Than most other kids, about life. What's to worry? What's to hurry? When he told his dad, he frowned, That's bad, that's bad, he thought, Being a father of modern thinking, He took his kid to the lotus pond, Where they remained silent for a jaded hour, It appeared, intelligence had a heart, New and compassionate, he felt again, Next autumn, his kid would be gone, He thought, how unfair, how unfair, Many times he asked, how unfair, Repeating till his son fell asleep, He walked into the dark, summoned by strange sounds, He stumbled upon a motley ox, Speaking magic to a stunned Plato, The radiant animal prescribed a cure, Which was its horns, to be boiled in a cauldron of herbs, For three weeks continuously, at extreme temperatures, Condensing eighty gallons of water into a flask, The afflicted shall drink it in a whiff, And the growth would be gone. That's it??? That's it??? He did as instructed, And his son lived for another forty years, Asking the same questions, Whenever he opened his mouth. Why, the monks are not bleeding? Why, the frogs are not sleeping? Why, the birds are not barking? Why, the dogs are not praying?