In the temple by the lake, where mist embraces stone,
A monk and boy awaken to the world they’ve always known.
Spring whispers through the trees, a breath of life anew,
The boy laughs, the river sings, the sky wears morning’s hue.
He learns of weight and consequence, a stone tied to a fish,
The ripple of his actions, the granting of a wish.
But innocence is fleeting, like petals on the stream,
And summer comes with fire, to test the fragile dream.
Love arrives, a fleeting guest, with passion’s burning flame,
The boy becomes a man, yet cannot bear the shame.
The temple walls grow distant, as he chases wild desire,
The lake reflects his longing, a mirror of his fire.
Autumn paints the mountains in hues of gold and red,
The man returns, his spirit worn, his heart a weight of lead.
The monk, now old and weathered, tends the garden’s grace,
Teaching him to carve the wood, to find his rightful place.
Winter’s frost descends, the lake now still and clear,
The man becomes the teacher, the cycle drawing near.
A child arrives, a spark of hope, to learn the ancient ways,
To carry on the seasons, through nights and endless days.
For life is but a circle, a wheel that turns and bends,
A journey through the seasons, where every story ends.
In the temple by the lake, where time and silence blend,
The soul finds peace in knowing: every winter turns to spring again.
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