Precious I am not
Being neither stone nor flower
Wine, good food or health
Nor am I riches
Having no expanse of being
Nor any depth to probe,
Nor elemental
As running water or blowing wind
Or soil to nourish
As such - so carefully considered
And regarded this glorious creation
Useless! ? !
Then pondering hence - in whatever manner
A majestic contemplation - perhaps
Does the useless also have it's use?
That in it's presence
It defines and redefines
Our grand illusions
And bounds about the useful
So as to show
A purpose which it has
And lost itself - it saves
Precious
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem