The Garden

In my garden there are many different flowers.
Some open their petals by day and hide under the shadow of the night.
Constantly they stand before me in all of their glory and how glad they make me for I am pleased with each of them.
If anybody asks me, ‘How full must your heart be?’
Then will I look to them and say, ‘Thirteen moons, fifty two weeks and two seasons but my heart remains the same.
Though I see much I am tempered evenly.
Though the air around me is pleasant and mild, perfumed by the fragrances of heaven, I linger not upon the thought of it.
Day and night do I toil to tend to all things about me and I will neither waiver nor sleep like the man with plenty who knows not what to do with it.’


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