THE NIGHT kisses the fading day whispering to his ear, 'I am death, your mother. I am to give you fresh birth.'

WHEN THOU savest me the steps are lighter in the march of thy worlds.
When stains are washed away from my heart it brightens the light of thy sun.
That the bud has not blossomed in beauty in my life spreads sadness in the heart of creation.
When the shroud of darkness will be lifted from my soul it will bring music to thy smile.

You ARE LIKE a flowering tree,
amazed when I praise you for your gifts.