The Rustling Of Hair-Grass
Greet the tender grassblades by your path, and listen
While the clay-sprung grass that's fine as hair will whisper,
Whisper to your heart, which seems so hard of hearing,
'You and I, to time eternity, are equal...'
For Almighty Father God has so arranged that,
Since you both accepted as your destination
Modest earth, you're halves of an equation: riddles
Both: in bloom and ashes, comparable miracles...
Catch this living knowledge, let your eyes be opened,
And from then on you will draw your dwindling moment
From forever – and not have to split the empire
Of the world to muddy earth and starry heaven...
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