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