Let this be my last word, that I trust in thy love.

The smile that flickers on a baby’s lips when he sleeps- does anyone know where it was born? Yes, there is a rumor that a young pale beam of a crescent moon touched the edge of a vanishing autumn cloud, and there the smile was first born in the dream of a dew-washed morning.

In the drowsy dark cave of the mind dreams build their nest with fragments dropped from day's caravan.

The movement of life has its rest in its own music.

All that is not given is lost.

The world speaks to me in colors, my soul answers in music.

Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love.