By Sister Dang Nghiem in June 2002
If had not stopped to watch A feather flying by, I would not have seen its landing. A tiny, pure white, fine feather. Gently, I blew a soft breath to send it Back to the spring. In had not looked up to watch The feather gliding over the roof, I would not have seen The crescent moon hanging On a midday.
Sister Dang Nghiem, Spring 2001