The night kissed the fading day With a whisper: "I am death, your mother, From me you will get new birth."
Music fills the infinite between two souls. This has been muffled by the mist of our daily habits.
The stars are not afraid to appear like fireflies.
Those who own much have much to fear.
The newer people of this modern age are more eager to amass than to realize.
Come oh come ye tea-thirsty restless ones -- the kettle boils, bubbles and sings, musically.