By Dr T S Jacob
Morning mist on Mount Tiyi,
Catching the ethereal light climbing sky-high,
Changing the mountain’s dismal grey
Into a fine floral array
Woven with myth and truth.
Blushed by the bright sun,
It becomes doubly red anon
And plays a little fun
With the men reaching on.
The woods are in blossom,
The mountain in red,
The flash of its blood-red
Reveals on every side
A thousand, thousand shades
Reaching up from Hades.
The red, red rows of supen,
The haunted woods standing mute,
The shining sun in heaven,
And the silent air around—
All indifferent in March—
Give way to the living and the dead,
Climbing up in search of supen.
The mysterious hands guard,
While the visible ones inroad.
Guarded by Hades-nature,
Supenthera breathe Lethe moisture,
Waving in the wind—a floral Lethe,
Carrying the men in the current
And leaving them lost in the woods.