THERE ARE tracts in my life that are bare and silent. They are the open spaces where my busy days had their light and air.

COME FRIEND, flinch not, step down upon the hard earth.
Do not gather dreams in the dusk.
Storms are brewing in the sky, lightning flashes are striking at our sleep.
Come down to the common life.
The web of illusion is torn, take shelter within walls of rough stones.

IF I WERE ONLY a little puppy, not your baby, mother dear, would you say
'No' to me if I tried to eat from your dish?
Would you drive me off, saying to me, 'Get away, you naughty little puppy?'
Then go, mother, go! I will never come to you when you call me, and never let you feed me any more.
If I were only a little green parrot, and not your baby, mother dear, would you keep me chained lest I should fly away?
Would you shake your finger at me and say, 'What an ungrateful wretch of a bird! It is gnawing at its chain day and night?'
Then, go, mother, go! I will run away into the woods; I will never let you take me in your arms again.