It waits to be lifted in the night. The cloud stood humbly in a corner of the sky. The morning crowned it with splendour. The dust receives insult and in return offers her flowers. Do not linger to gather flowers to keep them, but walk on, for flowers will keep themselves blooming all your way.
Roots are the branches down in the earth.
Branches are roots in the air. The music of the far-away summer flutters around the Autumn seeking its former nest. The touch of the nameless days clings to my heart like mosses round the old tree. The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original. God is ashamed when the prosperous boasts of His special favour.