THE WORLD is yours at once and for ever.
And because you have no want, my king, you have no pleasure in your wealth.
It is as though it were naught.
Therefore through slow time you give me what is yours, and
ceaselessly win your kingdom in me.
Day after day you buy your sunrise from my heart, and you find your love carven into the image of my life.

SORROW THAT has lost its memory
is like the dumb dark hours
that have no bird songs
but only the cricket's chirp.

THANK THE flame for its light, but do not forget the lampholder standing in the shade with constancy of patience.