If you wish to drink of my waters,
Come to me.
If you desire a sip of my wine
Come to me.
If you hunger for a taste of my feast
Come to me.
The door is always open.
Guests are always welcome.
Seats at the table are always prepared
With silverware and china and cut glass
Laid out in an array
That would amaze a peasant
And please a queen.
But summon me and the fire goes out.
Summon me and the gates slam closed.
Summon me and skies cloud over
And thunder claps and lightning strikes.
Summon me at your own peril.
For I have no patience for arrogant fools
Who mistake my benevolent smile
For a willingness to be used
By those who believe I am waiting
To be flattered by just the right man.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
whoa! and hmmm... a bit different, but two things come to mind immediately. one, the invitation wisdom gives to her feast, from proverbs 9. two, martin buber's spotlighting of two ways we relate to people and things— i-thou—where we respect, listen, cherish—and i-it—where people and things are merely objects. glen