Is not dread of thirst when your well is full, the thirst that is unquenchable?
Happiness is a vine that takes root and grows within the heart, never outside it.
You who are strong and swift, see that you do not limp before the lame, deeming it kindness.
The veil that clouds your eyes shall be lifted by the hands that wove it.
If aught I have said is truth, that truth shall reveal itself in a clearer voice, and in words more kin to your thoughts.
The mute grain turns to love songs when swallowed by the nightingale.