Let my thoughts come to you, when I am gone, like the afterglow of sunset at the margin of starry silence.

I sit at my window gazing The world passes by, nods to me And is gone.

The false can never grow into truth by growing in power.

A butterfly flitting from flower to flower ever remains mine, I lose the one that is netted by me.

Poems On Time The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough. Time is a wealth of change, but the clock in its parody makes it mere change and no wealth. Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time like dew on the tip of a leaf.

I'm lost in the middle of my birthday. I want my friends, their touch, with the earth's last love. I will take life's final offering, I will take the last human blessing.

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures. It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.