Mysticism and wonder between the pink of spring

  From its warm days and cold nights, a summer to bring

  The direction given, to a temple most magnificent, led me toward

  A structure made of skill and hands worthy to reshape its sturdy wood

  The old lady in the front noticed me in a state of confusion and anxiety

  A curious look and a chant taking both of them away

  Most inviting to a total stranger, and not a local as I gave not a clue

  Yet another language I fail to understand, before I started knowing of it too

  A worried elder not for anyone but the child who resides here resides

  Destiny playing a trick, hers and its fate to lead far from their life

  All the experiences I know that I will never once have myself

  Those and her worries she spoke of over tea grabbed from a cranky shelf

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  My youth brought forth her true self as she tended to my needs with care

  Hospitality unwarranted, but her one guide, my road to here

  Years passed and not many but a few different souls came to visit

  The temple shut from the world and its numerous prying faces

  A bath, food, water and clothing all given one after the other for free

  It was a traveler, weary, broken and with pain of a recent memory she saw in me

  Admiration for the same commitment to a cause as the child she called hers

  And as time came to pass and the sun began to set, she reappears

  A bag heavy and overflowing of written papers

  A blade at hand and blood on her hands that thickens

  Piercing the soul, her gaze came up to me

  Seeing me in a different light, before scrutinizing

  Affiliations, abilities and a school group she wanted to know

  Anger filled her eyes when she thought a lie when my answers to all was told

  The old woman apologizing in her behalf

  She sat her down with me as she took away her blade and bag

  Wiping the blood off her hands she saw me unwavering to her intimidating posture

  A hint of respect came from her words as she told her tale of constant daily trouble

  Envying the freedom of a wanderer the chose not a moment to rest

  In her room she retreated to study before having to lay her head

  And that too, her day would not bring an end