strike, throw and smell

Strike with experienced fingers
Strings of the harp
Just once and
More than once
Would be heard in harmony

Throw with your strength
As weak as a pregnant lady
Just once a pebble
More than once the sight
The ripples after the splash

Smell the foul smell
In the land of the rot
Grows the lotus amidst
The dropping and coloured water
Into clean petals white and spotless