এই পাতাটির মুদ্রণ সংশোধন করা হয়েছে, কিন্তু বৈধকরণ করা হয়নি।
The child ever dwells in the mystery
of an ageless time
unobscured by the dust of history.
There is a light laughter in the steps of creation
that carries it swiftly across time.
When peace is active sweeping its dirt
it is storm.
The breeze whispers to the lotus:
“What is thy secret?”
“It is myself” says the lotus,
“steal it and I disappear.”
The freedom of the wind and the bondage
of the stem
join hands in the dance
of swaying branches.
The jasmine’s lisping of love to the sun
is her flowers.
Gods, tired of paradise, envy man.
