Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
In my woven hammock I sit,
Enjoying the fragrant scents,
These dainty flowers emit.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
Is where I write this piece,
Out front, here at “La Maison”,
The humble abode I lease.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
I watch dragonflies pass by,
Their delicate wing spanned body,
A fascination to my eye.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
On this short and narrow street,
The sound of running water,
Flowing gently at my feet.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
The green expanse rolls out,
My view is a bounty plentiful,
With the rice fields now in sprout.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
I witness birds fly high,
In reverence to these avians,
It’s a Kingfisher that I spy.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
A spider crawls my way,
I call out to my dear husband,
Who stands up to save the day.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
I see flowers bloom so grand,
The many vibrant colours,
Oh! What a kaleidoscopic land.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
My soul is ever lit,
By the dancing of the butterflies,
As they fly, and land, and flit.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
Is where I read my book,
For the comfort this spot offers me,
Beats any little nook.
Beneath the Chinese Honeysuckle,
Is where I start each day.
Committed to the practice,
Of rising, the natural way.
— Justine R Stewart
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