It’s said there’s nothing new under the sun;
what you see here was once what was there.
Prestidigitized by a shuffling of particles,
this man might once have been a mountain;
that woman a tupelo gum in a southern forest.
So death too is transformation—re-formation.
The mountain is my brother, the tree my sister,
the sun the father of us all; the planets comrades,
circling round, circling round, circling
round, like a whirling dervish twirling.
All things are new under the sun;
I must remind myself every day
to notice things, to truly grasp
the profound uniqueness of ordinary objects,
to exalt in childlike jubilation
as all I love surrenders to change,
and as I surrender to love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem