How many pluck the thorn without the rose?
Dancers without smiling hearts,
Climbers ungrasping of height’s uplift,
Farmers possessed not by the soil-
Where are You?
Mystery awakens at the end of dream~
that sorrow and clamour are not
the real movement.
The orchestra of a day,
rising sun, opening flower, resting dog,
This play of life delighting any who see
goes on without your hand, or asking,
and isn’t it miraculously so..
For any who stop and breathe and look
will find all the riches
are not only within,
but free.