Trained from young by stringent mentors
like the bonsai tree of pines,
The Samurai's Bushido creeds
entwined in this heart of mine.

Like the roses' supple petals
our hearts must be day to day,
Yet righteous swords shy not to strike
those who delve in evil ways.

Through time the blood of evil hands
their scent in my nostrils reek,
There's a refuge I must go to
for the cleansing my soul seeks.

To my refuge a path I take
'neath the swaying bamboo trees,
My straw sandals quietly tread
softly on their falling leaves.

My sword and scabbard cross my back
strapped with silver buckled thongs,
For the downtrodden I'll unsheathe
to wrest their rights from the wrong.

Holding the brim of my straw hat
I look up at skies of blue,
Summer's breezes sway branches high
the noonday sun shimmers through.

Cool breezes now blow up the path
the falls a stone's throw away,
In its cold and cleansing waters
I will meditate and pray.

At its pooling edge I remove
the weight of my weariness,
Under the cold falling waters
I bare all my nakedness.

Refreshed I girth myself about
with a loincloth pure and white,
Sword in hand I rededicate
my life under Heaven's sight.

A gate to Hell my sword will show
to hands innocent necks choke,
Unrepentant they'll surely see
Sheol's fiery depths and smoke.

The life-way of the Samurai
no other they'll be for me,
The Bushido's code of honor
in my heart will always be…

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